


From Foundling to Father

by MissTeaVee



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22006171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTeaVee/pseuds/MissTeaVee
Summary: He is airlifted out of a warzone, away from the bodies of his parents and adopted into a warrior culture that he's only heard of in fairy tales.He is Eight years old.
Comments: 242
Kudos: 411





	1. Rescue

He clutches his father’s neck, trying to listen to what he’s being told, to obey. _ Keep your eyes closed sweetheart! Don’t look, just hold on! _

But the noise, the vibrations, the jostling of his father running, his mother’s hand trying to stay on his back, to provide comfort even now. He saw light that entered another person, and a black hole forming where the light exited. She fell, screaming.  _ Din, Baby, don’t look, look at mommy! I’m right here! _

It wasn’t real, he could barely comprehend it all. It was too much, just too much, and he could do nothing but hold on, and watch. A giant droid marching behind him, his parents’ hands pushing his head down as if he couldn’t harmed if he couldn’t see the thing coming for them. He was too young to truly understand the way his parents tried to be on either side of his small body, to take a blaster shot aimed in their direction so it wouldn’t hit him. Every explosion made them flinch and cry out, and he saw people falling, struggling to get up, raising their hands in surrender… and they were shot down by the metal monsters. No pity, no shame, no mercy. No emotion. They were nothing but metal and malice, and he cringed, clinging tight to his father, seeking security that he could not longer take from the simple warmth of his family.

His father’s arms could not shield him from everything bad and terrible in the world, and he knew it. He was too young to know it, but he knew it anyway, because the universe did not care at what age you learned the brutal truth.

“There, there! A cellar!” his mother cried, heading towards the metal door into the ground. Din found himself on his feet, passed into his mother’s arms as his father pulled open the cellar. Seeing the space, feeling his mother’s hand caressing him, he calmed. A hiding place. His family was good at hide and seek. If the droids couldn’t find them, they would be safe. But then his father glanced back, and his eyes grew wild. His mother made him shift to climb in, but then his father gasped out that the droids were coming. “Get-get in.”

He turned to his mother and they clutched each other fearfully, but his father was urging him down into the pit. He looked to the man, who grasped him with shaking hands and kissed his forehead. “You stay in there, you don’t move, you don’t make noise. We’ll run and the droids will chase us, then we’ll come back for you.”

He nodded, trusting his father. His father wouldn’t lie to him. He started to climb down, hearing his mother cry out. “I love you!” He glanced up to see her wracked with sobs-

As the doors closed reached up for his parents, scared of the dark despite it all, and his father looked at him one more time, eyes full of panic and desperation, and then the door was shut. It was less than a moment before a terrible roar ended with a great explosion above him, and he knew without understanding that his father’s promise couldn’t be kept. He shook in place, weeping silently, and it could've been right away, it could’ve been hours, but there were heavy metal footsteps approaching, and paralysed with fear that he was, he knew he needed to hide... Be better concealed. The cellar door was pulled smoothly open, and one of the murder-droids towered over him, unhesitating in carrying out it’s directives, blaster coming to bare on Din- he closed his tear-stained eyes and curled up as if that could save him-

He heard the shots, and felt nothing. Another explosion and more shots in some order his brain didn’t quite arrange correctly. He looked, and through his tears, he could see a person walking towards him. They stopped at the edge of the cellar as he blinked rapidly, until he could see his saviour’s armour and T-shaped visor.

“Come on kid, let’s get you out of here,” He said, offering a hand up. Din shifted forward hesitantly, drawn to this person instinctively. The voice wasn’t his father’s, but he was there and his father was… not. There was an encouraging gesture, the armoured person bending over so he’d be able to reach. “C’mon kid.”

He pushed himself to his feet and reached up, grasping the man’s thumb. Strong fingers closed around his hand and he was pulled out of the cellar into the street. Despite coming back into full view of the droids, the shooting, the death, Din suddenly felt safe; there were others in armour just like his rescuer, and the droids were falling to pieces around them. He was deposited gently on the ground, the warrior kneeling before him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes sir, who are you?” He was smiling, looking around, expecting his parents to be nearby. Everything was okay now because the droids were losing. Then he saw red fabric, like the clothes his family wore, and he looked more closely, seeing dark stains and-

“Don’t look,” Said the warrior gently, gathering Din into his arms and standing up. Din looked at him, and then towards a wooshing sound, seeing another warrior drop from the sky and start shooting droids. Din listened to his saviour even as he watched more soldiers fall gracefully into battle. “I am a Mandalorian, we’re here to help.”

_ Like in Mom’s stories… _ He thought in awe, seeing another Mandalorian hit the ground nearby. This one shouted something at the Mandalorian holding him, pointing at the two of them, then up at the sky. There was a nod from his saviour, who then turned to look at Din.

“Arms around my neck, knees tight on my waist, we’re getting out of here.”

“Okay,” He said solemnly, with all the trust that he would’ve given his father had he been there. Strong, metal-covered arms wrapped around his back, holding him securely, and there was a roar as the Mandalorian walked. And then-and then they were flying, and Din watched the street fall away over the Mandalorian’s shoulder, the battle becoming no more than toy figures and flashing lights.

The wind whipped at him, and he buried his face in the fighter’s neck, suddenly cold beyond just the chill of rushing air. It was over, he was safe…

And he shook, realising all at once that he’d never see his family again.


	2. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't understand what's happening, but he is Safe.

They landed far away from the fighting. He was brought in to a small building, his rescuer speaking in a language he didn’t understand to another Mandalorian who was holding a datapad. Gently, the soldier crouched down, easing Din onto his own feet. He clutched at the warrior’s neck for comfort for a long moment, before pulling back, looking into the visor.

“So what’s your name, kid?”

“I’m Din,” He said.

“Hi Din. Do you know your family name?” Asked his rescuer, one gloved hand on Din’s shoulder. 

He blinked, thinking about it. “It’s Djarin.”

“J-A-R-R-E-N?” Asked the other Mandalorian. He shook his head and spelled it out to her correctly.

“Mom taught me to spell it right,” He informed both Mandalorians with childlike seriousness. There was a soft chuckle from his rescuer.

“Do you have any family around here Din?” 

“Just… mom and dad… but they were…”

“Okay,” said the lady Mandalorian, lightly touching Din’s shoulder. “My friend needs to go back to the battle, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He looked down and realized there was blood on his elbow. When had that happened? He stared at it unbelievingly, for some reason the sight scaring him. A hand patted his head once, and it caused him to look up at his rescuer.

“They’ll take good care of you kid. I’ll see you later.”

And then he was gone out the door. Din heard the jetpack activate and looked longingly after him, but then he was gently guided further into the building. She wasn’t rough, but she was firm, ensuring that he went the right direction. There was a small washroom off to the side, and the Mandalorian looked at him. “Do you know how to use a sonics shower by yourself?”

“N-no?”

“Do you know how to bathe yourself?”

He nodded at her question, then looked at the floor, blushing. Sometimes Mom still washed his hair for him but-

“A sonics is the same, except you don’t need soap, it feels strange, but you will get just as clean,” She said to him, showing him the dials, pausing and looking him over. “You’ll be dry without a towel, so once you’re done, put on these clothes.” She held out a simple pair of pants and a tunic. He nodded again, and she left him alone in the washroom.

He pulled off his robes, realizing that there were tears and dark smears all over, though he didn’t feel badly scraped up except for his one elbow. The sonics was strange, buzzing over his skin and vibrating his teeth, but he became clean very quickly. When he came out, he found that his robes were gone, and he felt lost for a long moment before remembering the pants and tunic.

Barefoot, he stepped out of the room and looked around. The nice Mandalorian lady was down the hall and he padded towards her, not knowing what else to do. She noticed him and turned her whole body to face him and knelt down, reaching for his scraped arm and inspecting it. “Good, it should heal well.”

He missed his mom, who would’ve kissed it better, or Dad, who’d have comfortingly squeezed his arm, and then brought him to mom for that kiss. But the Mandalorian’s touch was gentle, and she brushed something over it that stung for a moment before taking all the pain away. Her mask tilted, and he knew she was looking at him. “Do you want food, water, or rest?”

He blinked at her, but… he was tired, now that she mentioned it. He was too young to understand the drained feeling that came from a day of emotional whiplash after whiplash. The trauma of war and loss. All he knew was that he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed. If it’d been an option, he’d have wanted to crawl under the covers with his parents. But they were gone. “I… I’m tired.”

“Come with me,” She said.

There was a room, it had cots along the walls, and in some of them, there were other children. Four were smaller than him, and two a bit bigger. Most were sleeping, though one of the smallest ones and the biggest one were awake, cuddling in a bed together and they perked up when Din came into the room, the Mandalorian speaking to him gently. “Take one of the beds and rest, ad’ika.”

He looked at her, then at the bunks and the other children. The two alert ones smiled at him wanly, and he smiled back shyly before clambering into one of the short cots and pulling the blanket over him. It was warm, though a bit coarse, and he curled up into a small ball and closed his eyes, too tired for anything else.

* * *

He didn’t know where he was at first. Poking out from under the blanket he looked around the room in confusion. There were now eight children plus himself, and a new Mandalorian, tall and lanky under their armor, presently doing something with a pile of fabric. Then it all came back to him, and he let out a little sob, reburying himself in the blankets to cry.

Someone’s hand came to rest lightly on his back as he sobbed, rubbing between his shoulders soothingly. He cried until his nose ran and his eyes watered, but finally he couldn’t cry anymore. Feeling drained, he slowly pushed back the blankets to find the lanky Mandalorian sitting on the edge of his cot, hand still on his back.

“Hey, feel better?” He asked, and Din was a little young to judge, but this Mandalorian’s voice gave them away as not-quite-adult. When Din didn’t answer the question, he spoke again. “You’re Din, right? I’m Paz.”

“Hi Paz,” said Din quietly. He curled up in his blanket and stared at the opposite wall. A couple of the other kids were looking at him, and almost all of their eyes were as hollow as his. “Are you a real Mandalorian too?”

“Yep,” said Paz proudly. “But I’m still training, so they don’t let me fight unless it’s desperate. I’m here to take care of all you foundlings!”

“What’s a foundling?” Asked one of the other kids. Din looked up at her, lacking the energy to have that curiosity. Paz was still patting his back, and after a moment’s hesitation, Din leaned into him, seeking comfort. The arm moved to wrapping around his shoulders instead.

“Means children who need help,” Said Paz with gravitas. “Cause we found you in the war zone. When everything calms down, we’re gonna try and help you guys find your families again.”

This was news to most of them, the littlest foundling brighting at that. “You mean my mommies?”

“Yes,” Said Paz with a nod, his helmet bobbing a little, as if loose.

“My parents are…” Din sniffed quietly. “There was a droid… They won’t find my mom and dad.”

“Oh… well, we’ll try and find your people, some who will take you in. But if they don’t, then we’ll take care of you. You’re a Foundling, and if a Mandalorian takes a Foundling, then they’re like a father or mother to the foundling until we find their family or they’re of age.”

“Oh…” He said, not quite understanding, but he wasn’t going to be abandoned. The Mandalorians would take care of him. The one who’d brought him here had been... Very nice, and Safe, and the Lady Mandalorian had been nice, but not like a mom, and Paz was… here, and his touch was soothing, though the hard armor was so different from his parents’ soft embrace.

Paz’s gloved hand was gently rubbing the back of his neck, and Din’s eye’s closed, soothed. Only when all the tension left his body did the young Mandalorian desist and move to one of the other bunks, checking on the child there, who seemed more familiar with him. They wrapped arms around the young Mandalorian’s waist in a tight hug. Paz chuckled, looking around the room. “So Din, and Maddie,” -here he addressed the newest child, a skinny Twi’lek youth. “How old are you two?”

“I’m… Eight,” Said Din, laying down against his pillow, closing his eyes.

“I’m Six!” Said the Twi’lek brightly. “How about you Paz?”

“I’m Fifteen,” Said Paz a bit pompously. Din opened his eyes to watch him. “I’m an adult! But not all the way, or I guess I’d be out fighting the war,” he deflated some before brightening again. “But helping take care of Foundlings is the more important work anyway!”

“Oh,” Says the twi’lek, wrapping their blanket around themself tightly. Din couldn’t tell if any of the other kids were boys or girls in these strange clothes. It didn’t matter, really, he was warm, safe, and dressed, but suddenly he missed his robes. He sniffled, but there was no more energy in him for crying.

Paz looked around at them, crossing his arms and clearly thinking. “So… anyone want some water or food? It’s not great food, but it’s better than being hungry.”

“Yeah!” Said the kid who was clearly most comfortable with Paz. They were a bit shorter than Din, with chubby cheeks. “The food’s way better with that sauce you put on it last time! Can I have more of that?”

There was a soft snort of amusement at that. “I’ll see if I can find it, Vod’ika.”

He stood up and left the room, the child he’d been sitting with rummaging through the pile of fabrics Paz had been fiddling with. “He washed your clothes for you,” They informed the group brightly. “Isn’t my big brother awesome!?”

“Your brother?” Din asked. “You’re not… a foundling like us?”

“I am, but Paz’s parents said I’m their daughter now!” The child informed him haughtily. “So that means Paz is my brother!”

He blinked at her, not comprehending. “But… what about _your_ mom and dad?”

The girl’s head dropped, and she looked away from him. “They’re gone.”

“Our mommy’s gone,” Said the biggest of the kids, hugging their little sibling. “She pushed us to the ground and covered us and there was a loud noise and she didn’t get up after that. We lost sight of our dad…”

“The Mandalorians will find him, you’ll see. There were other kids here, but then left ‘cause the Mandalorians found their parents,” said Paz’s little sister with unshakeable confidence. “And if they don’t, the Mandalorians will be all our parents.”

“That’s right,” Came Paz’s voice. He was holding a pot with a long handle in one hand, and a small stack of plates and cutlery with the other, stepping through the open doorway. He set the pot on the floor. His sister hopped off her bunk and grabbed at a plate. “Easy now.”

“Didja get the sauce big brother!?”

“Help me pass out the plates to everyone.” He replied. The young girl pouted.

“M’not hungry,” Din muttered.

“You still have to take a bite,” said Paz with a shrug. “Little sister! You didn’t hand everyone their clothes!”

His voice was playfully scolding, and the girl shuffled her feet in embarrassment. “I forgot.”

“Well we’ll fix that after we hand out the food. Give this to Mitza,” he instructed, handing her the first plate, covered in some thick sort of casserole. The plates were brought around to the group. Dyn accepted a plate and fork, staring down at the food. He was Hollow, feeling that there was nothing in him that the food would fill.

Finally, when all the plates had been distributed, the little girl went up to her brother and stared up at him. “Paaaaaz, did you find the sauce!?”

Paz chuckled, reaching into a pouch on his belt and coming up with a little packet. The girl cheered as he handed it to her. “There you are Keri.”

The girl happily set about spreading the whatever-it-was over her food before demolishing her entire plate in short order. Din stared at the food he’d been given without interest, until a light tap on his head made him startle. Paz’s helmet was staring down at him. Din looked down again.

“Take a bite, at least,” He said. “It’s not that bad.”

Just to make the Mandalorian stop hovering, Din obeyed. It wasn’t the most flavorful thing he’d ever tried, but it was more than just mush, and it was food. All of a sudden his young body came to life; telling him he was starved, and he took another mouthful, chewed, then swallowed, and then another. Paz nodded and moved on to the other children, making sure they all ate a little. Water came to them in sealed pouches, and Din, for his part, slurped as much down as he could, suddenly desperate to fill himself, but all the food and drink could only fill the void in his stomach, not the one in his chest.

When he was done, he started licking the plate clean, caught Paz staring at him, and lowered it slowly to his lap, embarrassed. He knew better; his parents had taught him manners. Paz turned away, helmet jostling just a little as he shook his head. The plate was taken from him and replaced with…

It was dull red, the ripped elbow had been stitched up, and the stains on it were faint. It smelled clean… the long robes he’d been wearing when… when he’d been left in the cellar. He pulled them to his chest, and buried his face in the fabric. His father’s clothes, his mother’s; they’d been the same color, the same texture. For a moment he tried to imagine that he was pressed against one of them, hearing a heartbeat. But the bundle was just fabric, and now it didn’t even smell like the soaps his mother used to clean their clothes.

He didn’t cry, having no tears left for it.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really like the mental image of Paz Vizla as this gangly teenager, not yet grown into the bulky heavy gunner. Since in the old Canon, Mandalorians are considered to be 'Adult' at age 14, I figure that that means that at that age they start wearing their helmets permanently.
> 
> I need some help coming up with a name for Din's adoptive parent. I want the last name to be non-mandalorian, but the first one to sound Mando.
> 
> EDIT: 21/05/2020 Changed Paz's age to a bit younger to match some personal thoughts and headcanons that I hadn't fully fleshed when initially writing this chapter.


	3. Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you guys for your name suggestions. Coming up with a good name can be really hard, and your ideas gave me a lot of inspiration. Not just for Din’s adoptive father, but for other characters around them.

The room didn’t actually have a door, and he was restless. Exhaustion pulled at him despite the many hours he’d slept, or maybe simply lain in the bunk with his eyes closed. It didn’t matter; he just needed to move.

Din lifted himself from his bunk, looking around. Most of the others were sleeping or pretending to. Paz was… well he was sitting against a wall quietly, helmet tucked down to his chest. Maybe he was sleeping too. It looked uncomfortable though. Din grasped at his pile of red robes, bundling them to his chest and quietly padded his way out of the room. The floors were stone and uncarpeted; uncomfortable for his bare feet. But he wandered anyway. 

There seemed to be endless twists and turns. He found the occasional window, and noted that it was dark outside. Whenever he was near one of the apertures, he could hear distant rumbling, interspaced with deep thuds. The building was a lot bigger on the inside than the outside, and he wondered how that was possible. After a time, he became aware of the sound of booted feet, and when he poked around a corner to see a Mandalorian in black and red gear, he wasn’t caught off guard. They stopped, tilting their head at him, and he returned the gaze, suddenly wondering if he was in trouble.

“Are you lost?” They asked.

He relaxed at the friendly question and shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“You shouldn’t come down this way, the tunnels go a long way into the mountain. You  _ will _ get lost,” they approached him, and he stood there, still clinging to his bundled robes, looking up at the big figure looming over him. They didn’t sound angry… but they were so imposing. “What are you doing?”

He swallowed, clinging to his robes for comfort. “I couldn’t sleep,” he repeated.

A drawn out sigh, the Mandalorian shrugging a shoulder and turning away. “Well, come on then, if you’re not going to sleep we can keep you out of trouble.”

He brightened at that, trotting to keep up with the warrior’s long strides, nearly tripping when one of his robes’ sleeves fell out of the bundle. There were voices up ahead, and he followed the Red and Black armored Mandalorian into a gathering of a dozen or so. Din froze in the doorway to see so many T-visors focus on him.

“What’s this?” Asked a voice curiously. Din looked around, wishing he could see who was talking, what their faces would say. His friend in the red and black put a hand on his shoulder and steered him fully into the room.

“Found this one wandering the tunnels. I think one of the Foundling guardians isn’t doing their job.”

“ _ Mikad, gar K’chaab Adiik _ ,” Said a light voice. The hand lifted off Din’s shoulder, to his relief. Someone knelt to his level and he stepped closer to them, seeking comfort from the obviously friendly form. “What have you got there?”

“My.. my old clothes,” he said, suddenly feeling foolish for carrying around the bundle.

“Ah, and who was the Mandalorian who was staying in the room with you and the other foundlings?”

“Um..” he blinked, looking down at his bundle for answers, even though he knew who it was. “It was Paz… but I think he was asleep.”

There was a soft impact noise and he looked up to see a Mandalorian with their hand pressed to their helmet. “I’m going to kill my son,” she muttered. There was a low murmur of snickers.

A nod, the kneeling one picking him up smoothly. He was startled, but didn’t resist. “We’d best ensure Paz knows you’re safe, or he’ll have quite a fright upon waking.”

“He will anyway,” growled the woman who’d indicated that Paz was her child. She reached out for Din, and he shrank back nervously. “Come now little one, I need to go speak to my son anyway.”

Din hesitated a long moment, not really wanting to reach for the angry Mandalorian, especially when the one holding him gave no indication that he was expected to move over. After a moment that was probably awkward for the adults (Not that he would notice or care a whit. He was happy in the arms already holding him) the friendly one holding him spoke. “I will come with you anyway, it wouldn’t do to wake the foundlings while you speak with Paz. I will watch them until the conversation is over.”

“Thank you,” grunted Paz’s mother.

* * *

As they moved down the halls, Din shifted his bundle of clothes around so he could lean more securely against the one holding him. His feet were quite sore from the rough stone, and he was grateful that they didn’t expect him to walk all the way back. Paz’s mother still seemed angry, her shoulders hunched, stride purposeful. Din was glad this other Mandalorian had come with them.

“What’s you name?” They asked. He turned his head to look at the visor that was pointed down the hall. 

“I’m Din.”

“Who was your Finder?”

“My finder?”

“The one who brought you here?”

“I don’t know, he left.”

“Ah… what color was his armor?”

“Uhm… dark blue? But there were lots of them with that color,” He said quietly. “Is he… will he come back?”

“Of course he will, I don’t know exactly who you’re talking about, but I know what squad he must be in,” They said, pausing briefly at a window. Now Din could see more than the sky through it; and he realized they were looking out over the city. In the distance there were streaks of light. There was one very bright flash, and then rolling smoke rising, barely visible in the dark, lit from beneath by flashes of color. Then a deep  _ thump _ rolled through him, though it was from very far away. Battle, war, just out there, he realized. Still within sight. He clutched tightly at the Mandalorian holding him. “There there, you’re safe here. Your Finder is out there somewhere. His squad will have hunkered down for the night. He’ll be back tomorrow, I and my squad will go out to join the fight then.”

“Oh,” He said softly. His bundle of clothes had fallen, and Paz’s mother picked them up and gave them to him. He quietly thanked her, burying his face under a shining helmet. He was gently patted on the back, and the Mandalorians continued walking. He spoke after a bit. “The droids won’t come here?”

“It is possible,” they told him after a moment. His skinny arms clutched a bit more tightly at their neck at the thought. “But not likely right now. Still, that’s why all of us are armed and ready for combat. Should the droids suddenly come for us, we can evacuate you to safety through the tunnels quickly.”

He nodded against their neck, saying nothing more.

* * *

  
  


Din was pleased, despite himself, when he recognised the hallway to the ‘Foundling room’ in which Paz and the others could be found. He shifted a little, but the grip on him didn’t lessen. They walked into the room to find it peaceful, none of the kids having moved, and Paz still sitting against the wall, the chin of his helmet resting on his chest. His mother stalked towards him.

“Paz,” her voice was soft, but the young man jolted awake.

“B-buir!” He whispered hoarsely, scrambling to his feet. “I was just… resting I wasn’t asleep.”

“Look what Mikad found wandering down one of the perimeter tunnels,” Said the woman, gesturing towards Din. Paz looked and visibly winced, then glanced back at his mother, curling in on himself nervously. “Come with me,  _ Ad _ .”

“Yes  _ buir _ …” his feet dragged, but he followed after her. Din watched them go, letting out a sigh of relief when the scary Mandalorian was gone. Din turned to the Mandalorian holding him, who chuckled softly.

“Don’t worry for him, the worst he will receive is a good scolding. He ought to know better.”

“Okay…” Dyn let himself be placed on the smooth ground, and then looked around. He spotted his shoes! He went to grab them and pull them on, not wanting to do any more barefoot walking on the rough floors outside the room. “Why is everyone wearing a helmet?”

“It’s easier than carrying it around, and remembering to pick it up again if you have to put it down,” He was told. “Our helmets are what marks us as Mandalorians. To abandon one on accident would be hearsay.”

He nodded in comprehension of the statement and paced the room. The T-visor followed his path, though the Mandalorian’s posture remained relaxed. Then a piping voice spoke up.

“Why’s a helmet so important? Your armor’s special too.”

It was the Twi’lek child talking. Din paused a moment. Paz had said their name… hadn’t he? The Mandalorian watching them answered the question, however.

“Because being a Mandalorian isn’t the same as being a Twi’lek, or a human, or anything else. You don’t choose to be a Twi’lek, you just are. But you can choose to be a Mandalorian. And when you are a Mandalorian, you are a Mandalorian above all. None should look at you and see you first as anything else. Not Rodian, not Twi’lek, not Human, not Man nor Woman. They should see you, and know that the most important thing about you is your Creed.”

The Mandalorian held out their hand. “None can judge me on anything, except on what kind of Mandalorian I am. They can’t tell if my skin is green and scaled, or soft and warm, only my words and deeds mark who I am. That is what is means to be Mando’ade.” 

* * *

  
  


When Paz returned to the room, clearly chastened, Din was playing with the sleeves of his robes, wanting to put them on instead of the simple brown tunic the Mandalorians had given him. But he’d need somewhere to get changed to do it.

He slipped off his cot, and Paz’s head snapped around to look at him at once. He froze, sensing the glare being directed at him from behind the visor. “Where are you going?”

“Paz Vizla,” Said the calm Mandalorian who was still supervising the room, their tone remonstrative. “Do not blame him for taking curiosity of his surroundings, and do  _ not _ take your frustrations out on a child. You made a mistake, you will do better.”

The teenager subsided sulkily, shoulders hunching up. There might’ve been a giggle from one of the Foundlings, but Keri, Paz’s little sister got up to give him a hug around the waist. He looked down and patted her head, relaxing slowly.

Din looked up at the adult Mandalorian, suddenly feeling skittish of Paz. “C-can I put my robes back on?”

“You certainly can if you want to,” They told him. “Do you need help?”

He blushed, looking down. “N-No… but there’s others here… I can’t change here.”

“Aah, I see,” They said, looking up to Paz. “I’ll take young Din for a while, Paz, if someone comes looking for him, you can tell them he’s in my care.”

“Yes Rohlan,” Said Paz deferentially. Rohlan turned to Din and offered him a hand. Din hesitated a moment and took it. He’d been held and or comforted by more individuals today than he had the entire rest of his life. It was strange… but nice too. All the grown ups had made sure he was okay, even the kinda scary one. He was used to only his parents caring for him like that.

He let the Mandalorian guide him out of the room, looking at them more closely now. Their armor was a dull green overall, with stripes of a brighter shade that shimmered whenever they passed under a light. Din though it looked very nice. Rohlan stopped at a doorway, and released Din’s hand.

“Here is a washroom for you to change in, little one.”

“Thank you,” He said, shifting his bundle of clothes so he could open the door and step in. Once it shut behind him, Din put down his bundle and went to use the ‘fresher. Once done, he washed his hands and dried them on his tunic. Only then did he change back into his red pants and robe. He had to take his boots off to change, and then put them right back on again. He stood on tiptoe to look at himself in the mirror, and pulled the hood up. There. Perfect.

He folded up the brown tunic and grey pants of the Mandalorians and went to the door. Rohlan was leaned patiently against the opposite wall. “There you are, are you ready to return to the Foundling room?”

Din hesitated. “I… couldn’t sleep, I’m not… tired,” he was, he wasn’t, he didn’t know. But he knew sleep wouldn’t happen. “Can… can I stay with you?” 

Rohlan let out a little sigh but nodded. “Alright, let’s drop off your bundle and you can come with me to the gather with the others.”

Din brightened, and took Rohlan’s hand as soon as it was offered. He was led down the hallways that twisted and turned, and he tried to remember the pattern of it, but it was difficult. Once again, passing by the windows he could hear faraway noises that he now knew were explosions. He clutched close to Rohlan’s leg. They patted his head comfortingly and picked him up. He nestled under their chin, feeling as safe as he had in his father’s arms before the war had shattered his innocence. This was different; this was one of the greatest warriors in the Galaxy with unbreakable armor. He was Safe.

The sounds of outside faded when Rohlan took them down a side hall, and he let out a little relieved sigh. There were voices up ahead, but he didn’t look around as Rohlan walked into the room.

“Another one?” Someone asked. Din could feel Rohlan’s head shake a negative.

“Same boy, the foundling room isn’t very interesting right now,” They said. Din glanced back over his shoulder at the group, before nestling back under the safety of the Mandalorian’s chin. Rohlan didn’t try and put him down, and Din was comfortable where he was. He was content to peek over the Mandalorian’s shoulder at the doorway, catching glimpses of the others in the room whenever the one holding him turned to address someone. The conversation was flowed with words like “Quadrant,” “Charges,” And “Strike.”

He was content being held, the murmur of voices comforting, even as he became aware that they were discussing the war outside. They were talking about how to best stop the fighting, he realized. That was good. Eventually, he felt his eyelids drooping, and it was okay to close them, just for a moment…

* * *

“I think your bundle’s asleep, Rholan.”

“Oh good,” They said, shifting their grip slightly. “It was going to happen eventually. The Foundling rooms can be a little too quiet for the ones we pull from the fight.”

“Go put him back, you can’t coddle a little one to grow them into a warrior,” opined the Mandalorian who’d initially found the child wandering the halls. Rohlan turned to face this other, glare transmitting clearly despite the visor.

“The fact that you’ve never had anything to do with child-rearing continues to make itself obvious, Mikad,” they scorned.

* * *

He roused slightly, feeling hands grasp at his sides, and lift him away from the shoulder he was pressed on. He squirmed a little, but a familiar, _ safe  _ voice spoke to him, and he shifted willingly to a new shoulder and nuzzled at the fabric covering the Mandalorian’s neck.

Then he smelt that which clung to the armor under him; dust, ozone, even blood; the battlefield. In his half-awake state, he was back in his father’s soft arms, the world strangely muted, seeing people fall all around them. He whimpered, and the safe voice soothed him gently. “It’s alright Din, Rohlan needs to go now.”

He roused properly and looked up at the blue-grey helmet. He knew who this was; it was the Mandalorian who’d taken him from the cellar. His Finder. He rubbed at his eyes, looking around to see Rohlan, who was pulling on a jetpack. The green-clad Mandalorian glanced up and nodded to them.

“Your charge is back under your care, Ghyrs. Guard him well.”

“Of course, Fel,” Said the man softly, before turning attention to Din. Din returned the look with open curiosity, feeling less tired than before. His Finder tilted their head at him in a good natured sort of way. “Well, kid, it’s just you and me now.”

Din nodded quietly, seeing black streaks on the Mandalorian’s helmet and reaching up to touch it. His fingers came away blackened. There was a chuckle.

“Yeah, I need to clean my armor. Do you want to help me?”

He nodded mutely, putting his arms around the Mandalorian’s neck when he was shifted closer. As he walked, his Finder spoke to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t make sure we were introduced properly before I rejoined the battle, Din. My name is Serim, and you are mine to care for until I find your family, or the day you are of age.”

“Serim…” He said quietly. He closed his eyes. “My mom and dad are… they’re dead.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” He said, patting Din’s back. “I wasn’t fast enough. But if you have aunts, uncles, grandparents, they could take you in. Do you know your relatives?”

Din shook his head quietly. “Gramma died last year. We had a funeral. I don’t know anyone else.”

“Then I will be as you father,” Said Serim. “And you will be my child, if that is what you want.”

Din leaned back to look at the T-visor of the man holding him in surprise. One of Serim’s hands came up and gloved fingers stroked through the boy’s curly hair. After a moment, the boy leaned in again, hiding against the hard armor that had shielded him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikad, gar K’chaab Adiik. (Mikad, you’re scaring the child.)  
> Ad (child)  
> Buir (Mother/Father)
> 
> @Wolfshark91: I’ve developed a fondness for Rohlan Fel and I’ll probably end up using this character again sometime.  
> @Circandiana: Adore the name Ragiz Ghyrs. Though Din’s Finder only shares the last name, you’ll spot Ragiz at some point ;)


	4. Buir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din gets to know the man who saved him, and ergo, is now as his Father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din’s never met a human with blue eyes before. I say this because Serim has perfectly normal blue eyes.
> 
> I also feel the need to add the disclaimer that I DO NOT AGREE WITH ALL OF SERIM’S OPINIONS. He is Death Watch, whether I like it or not, so he has Certain Opinions on the Republic/Duchess Satine. And the Mandalorian culture of adoption is fantastic, but there is a certain dubiousness inherent in the act of taking a child away from the culture they know and raising them in a vastly different one.

He was set down on a comfortable, tidy bunk. He investigated it momentarily before a series of soft clicks had him looking up. Serim’s helmet was resting on a small frame. Din stared at it, then up at the Mandalorian who was fixated on removing his gear. Noticing the boy staring, Serim shot him a smile.

“What?”

“I thought Mandalorians can’t take off their helmets,” he said.

“We can, but our creed doesn’t let us do it in front of potential enemies. We like to keep ourselves secret most of the time,” Serim said. “But we can take them off around some other Mandalorians, and children.”

“Oh.”

Din looked up at the man’s face, taking it in. He was human… or mostly human; Din had never seen a human with blue eyes before. But his expression was kind. When Serim offered Din his helmet, the boy took it, looking at it curiously.

“Why is your armor the same as everyone in your group but Rohlan’s is green?” He asked.

Serim paused in pulling off a shoulder pad. “A few reasons. The biggest one is that his tribe’s different than ours. We follow the Creed in slightly different ways. But the basis of us, the Resol’nare, it is the same. We are Mando’ade.”

Din nodded quietly. Once Serim was down to the coarse underclothes that his armor strapped to, he sat on the bunk beside Din and showed him how to clean the gear. As he worked, he talked, telling Din what each piece was called in basic, and then the name for it in the Mandalorian tongue. Din was given a shoulder pad, (Pauldron was the right word, or Bes’Marbur.) a rag, and some polish, and he followed instruction to make it shine. Serim taught him that some Mandalorians preferred their armor to be a slightly different shape, the cuisses (Thigh pieces) covering more of the side of the legs, so the warrior could wear a ven’cabur (codpiece) to protect a sensitive area. He explained that there was always a trade off in armor; too much and you were to heavy too move, and it could block your motion; too little, and you were unprotected.

Din was entranced by the lesson, and when he was done cleaning the pauldron, he held it reverently. Serim eventually finished up, and began putting all his armor on the stand. He was about to hang his gun belt over the helmet, but then he paused, glanced at Din, and hung it on a high peg across the room, placing his vambraces in the belt. Stretching, the Mandalorian looked down at him with a small smile.

“I’m going to clean up and get my under-gear patched. I’ll be back soon. Don’t go wandering off again, okay?”

Din nodded his understanding, bending over to take off his boots and push them off the bed. Satisfied, Serim stepped out of the room.

For a while, Din was alright. He looked around the room, which had a few interesting personal touches. He hopped off the bed and ran his fingers over Serim’s armor, tracing where there’d been carbon scoring. Here and there the paint was worn, but the metal beneath seemed without blemish. Serim had been invincible in it. Din wondered what it’d be like to be a Mandalorian, so powerful, so unafraid of anything. He glanced at the door and picked up the blue helmet. He stared into the visor for a long moment, tracing his fingers over it. Before he could talk himself out of it, he turned the helmet around and placed it on his head.

He couldn’t see a thing.

He gripped the helmet, lifting it, and discovering that the visor was lower than his eyes; his head too small for the helmet. But he could see through the visor by tilting the helmet all the way up with his hands. To his surprise, there was a screen of some sort in the helmet, and it made everything around him brighter. He looked around the room, finding the display inside the helmet fascinating. Serim’s armor looked strange through the visor: it seemed like it glowed somehow.

He looked up and spotted the weapons’ belt. He walked over and looked up at it, but when he took his hands away from the helmet to reach, the helmet slipped. Din lifted the helmet off and put it on the nearest surface-the bed, and reached up curiously. He wanted to look at the blaster. He stood up on his tip toes, but he was inches too short. He tried climbing onto the bed to reach the belt, but again, the fascinating piece was too far away. Why couldn’t he look at it!? He sat on the bed, the helmet in his lap as he pondered the conundrum. He pondered for quite some time.

He looked at the helmet in his lap and frowned thoughtfully when an idea struck. He slipped off the bed and put the helmet on the floor. It sat securely. He put one foot on the helmet. Nothing happened. He pushed off with his other foot then placed it on the helmet too, arms outstretched for balance. So far so good. He looked up at the weapons belt and grinned proudly to himself before reaching upwards. His fingers brushed the base of a sheathe, but he couldn’t tug it down. The Vambraces shifted, though, so he tugged again, hoping at least one would fall…

The door to the room pinged. Din let out a yelp and fell off the helmet, scrambling to grab it as the door open. He jammed the helmet back on the stand then froze, staring at Serim, who was staring back.

After a moment, those pale eyes turned towards the armor rack, on which the helmet was now sitting backwards. A light thud had Din jump, and Serim looked over to see a vambrace fallen to the floor. Then Serim looked back at Din, who was trying to sink into the ground. “What have you been doing?”

Din shuffled, and risked a glance up at his Finder. The man’s hands were on his hips, and his lips pressed together sternly, but the corners of his mouth were fighting to point upwards. “I… wanted to see…”

“Well,” Serim shook his head slowly, a snicker escaping. “I can show you the weapons another time. I don’t want you setting off the flamethrower by accident.” A pause and a wince. “Or the wrist rocket…”

“Oh,” said Din, shuffling his feet. Serim sighed, picking him up. He was softer without his armor, though the shape of his body was different than what Din was used to; Serim’s body was bulkier than his father had ever been, and his clothing was still padded oddly to what Din was used to. Din didn’t meet the man’s eyes.

“I know you were asleep when I got back, but you could probably use some more. Are you hungry?”

“I dunno,” He said. Serim sighed softly.

“Alright. I need to armor up again.”

“Are you leaving?” Din asked, fear clutching his chest at the thought. Serim shook his head, his grip on the boy shifting so he could ruffle Din’s hair comfortingly.

“No, but we’re very near the warzone, and I want to be ready just in case the droids find us,” He paused, watching as Din’s eyes widened in horror at the thought. “It’s not likely, but it’s smart to be ready, just in case.”

“Okay…”

Din let himself be put down, watching as Serim geared up. The Man put his helmet on and spent a few moments touching some sort of switch up near the ear, and then the helmet was set aside again. Din tilted his head in confusion, moreso as the Mandalorian’s gun belt was put down beside the helmet as well. Serim caught him looking.

“I’m going to get some rest, but this way it’s only a matter of seconds to be ready for combat instead of minutes,” He explained, sitting down on the bunk. “But before that, you and I need to talk.”

Din sat up straight, shuffling away from the Mandalorian. “I-I wasn’t gonna shoot your blaster just-”

“Not about that, ad’ika,” Said Serim gently. Din looked at him in confusion. Serim shifted so that his weight was resting on the bunk, though one leg hung off the side, looking towards Din fully. “I want to make sure you understand what it means to be my Foundling.”

“Okay,” He said, folding his little legs together and perching his hands on his knees, rocking a little as he looked at the Mandalorian.

“When I took you away from the battle, you became my responsibility,” Serim rested his hands on his thighs, body still. “I rescued you, so now you are under my care. It is expected of me to be a parent to you in every way that you need. This does not mean you have to call me your father if you don’t want to. Do you understand?”

Din stared at the Mandalorian, looking down at his hands. “You’ll be just like my dad?”

Serim nodded, and then paused. “Well, I don’t think I’ll be just like him. I am my own person. But I’ll have the same responsibility to care and provide for you, to protect and train you. Perhaps more. A child raised by Mandalorians is taught a lot more combat than most.”

“Okay,” Said Din, shifting around. He looked down at the blanket, rocking a little more. He looked up at Serim, who was still so poised and calm, and he wished that he could be like that; invulnerable, unmovable. But then, this was a Mandalorian, and Din was just a little kid under this great warrior’s care. “Do I call you dad?”

“If you want to, you can,” said Serim. “But if you think that doing so will make it harder to hold on to the memory of your birth parents, then you can call me by my name, or Buir, if you want to. It’s Mando’a for Parent.”

“Buir,” Din said softly to himself. Then he looked up at Serim and nodded. “I-I don’t want to forget my mom and dad.”

“As long as you remember them, they are eternal,” said Serim with a gentle expression. “And they will know you are safe, that you will be loved and cherished.”

“But they’re… they’re dead,” Din said, choking up. “They’re gone… The droid.”

Serim gathered him up, and Din clung to him. The warrior shifted Din to one arm and turned him so they were looking at each other. “There’s a saying in Mando’a, it translates to ‘I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.’ It means that… as long as you remember someone, they’re never truly gone. Part of them is still alive in you as long as you hold them in your heart.”

“But they’re gone,” Din said quietly. “They left me…”

“I know, I know,” Serim soothed, running gloved fingers through Din’s hair. “But you know why they did, don’t you? They knew they were trapped, and they thought that maybe if they hid you… you’d get away. They were good parents, the way you talk about them, and I hope I can be just as good.”

That was it; for some reason it broke the dam and Din choked, burying his face against the Mandalorian’s hard chestplate and crying quietly. Serim gently rubbed at his head, other arm wrapped around Din’s back. “Every day, Mandalorians speak remembrance for those we’ve lost. We say their names, and think about them. That’s what that saying I told you is. Every day I remember those who are gone now. They’re out there in the Manda, watching over us.”

The only answer he received was a sad whimper. He hummed, giving Din the time to cry himself out. “Do you want me to teach you the Remembrance, Din?”

“I-I don’t know their names,” the boy said miserably when he'd finally run out of tears. The gentle hand didn’t stop rubbing through his hair.

“That’s alright, you know who they are to you. You can say ‘mom and dad’ if you want to. The feeling and meaning of it is what matters.”

“Okay…” Said Din.

Serim nodded, and began to teach Din the words, in both Basic and Mando’a. _ I’m still alive but you are dead. I remember you so you are eternal. Mama. Papa… _ He hesitated.

_ Gramma? _

“Yes,” Said Serim warmly when Din glanced up at him for confirmation after saying it. “Anyone you’ve lost that you want to remember, not just the ones lost to war.”

“What is eternal?” The boy asked, wiping his eyes, feeling strangely lightened by the Remembrance. He didn’t feel like his parents were there, but maybe they’d heard him.

“It means forever. They’re still with you as long as you remember them, and when it is your turn to pass, you and them will be together in the next life.”

“What’s that?” Din asked quietly. “Is it like this one?”

“No…” Serim paused. “Mandalorians believe that when you die, you go and join the All, your spirit lives on with those of all you love, and the collective soul of all Mandalorians. The Manda, we call it. But it’s more than that, it describes the state of mind of the Mando’ade, and the energy of it is protective, inspiring to those left behind.”

“But... I’m not Mandalorian,” Said Din. Serim chuckled.

“No you arn’t, no child is, not even the ones born from Mandalorians are truly Mandalorians at first. Being Mandalorian isn’t about your birth, it’s about your choices. One must decide to become Mandalorian, and you must mean it with both your heart and your soul.”

“Really?” Din asked, Serim nodded. “Can I be a Mandalorian?”

“Do you want that?” asked Serim. “It can be a hard life. It’s a lot to learn.”

Din couldn’t explain it, how he’d felt safe as soon as he’d taken Serim- his  _ buir _ ’s hand. The battle around him hadn’t seemed so frightening anymore. Everything had been okay as soon as the Mandalorians were there. Every time he’d become nervous or scared since then, there’d been someone to pick him up and cradle him against hard armor, and when they did, he’d been _ safe  _ again. It didn’t matter that the gear was uncomfortable to sleep on. What had mattered was that safety. If he could be a Mandalorian… he’d never be scared again.

He couldn’t explain it, so he just looked up at Serim and nodded seriously. “I want to be a Mandalorian.”

His buir let out a soft noise, nodding. “Then I will train you, Din.”

* * *

That first night together, Din slept in the same bed as his adoptive parent. Serim had gone through the effort of bringing a small cot into the room and getting the kid situated and comfortable before settling down for some rest of his own, still armored. Then the first nightmare had Din dragging himself out of his comfy little bed and going over to the adult for comfort. Serim had hesitated, blinking blearily as the boy crawled up onto the bed and nestled under his arm, but done nothing to discourage him.

Din hadn’t slept well against the armor either, but at least then, every time he woke, there was that reassuring presence to lull him back to sleep.

* * *

“If you found another kid out there when you’re fighting, would you adopt them to?” Din asked. The question had been nagging him since he’d woken up. Serim, in the middle of sleepily buttering his glove paused, looking down at his toast in surprise as he roused.

“Well… that depends,” Said Serim, looking at his glove in dismay. He set aside the butter knife and grabbed a cloth to clean his gloves with, looking up to Din. “If I found another child in a situation like yours, it is completely expected of me to take them to safety. But whether or not I’d adopt them depends on whether or not we can find them their family and if I can provide for another child. Why do you ask?”

“I was just… wondering,” Said Din,not entirely truthfully, watching as Serim got out the butter knife again, this time getting the spread on the correct item. “Are you okay?”

Serim chuckled wryly. “I didn’t sleep very well last night, I’ll wake up after my caf kicks in.”

“I’m sorry,” Din said, looking away. Serim shrugged philosophically.

“I’m new to being your parent, same as you’re new to being my child. It’s a change to adjust to. Anyway, it was probably because I was still riled up from the battle, nothing to do with you, Ad.”

“Okay,” he said, looking down at the fruit and buttered toast on his own plate. He didn’t want to admit it but he was worried that if Serim found another child, that he wouldn’t have time to teach Din to be a Mandalorian like he’d promised. But… if Serim found someone else, that’d mean they needed him the same way Din did, right? He shouldn't be jealous of another child like him. He sighed, picking up his toast and chewing on it. Maybe he’d understand more after breakfast.

* * *

Din trotted along after his Finder, who was moving slowly to make sure the boy didn’t lose track of him. When they came to a window, the boy stopped and tried to peek out of it when he realised he couldn’t hear the distant explosions. Serim came back and looked down at him. “What is it?”

“S’quiet now,” Din said. Serim made an agreeable noise that came out as static through his helmet, picking Din up so he could look out the high window.

“Droid’s’ve been given new directives, they’ve left the city for the hills. Apparently the  _ Republic _ army’s on it’s way after all,” there was… something in his tone that made Din twist to look at him nervously. Serim’s helmet shifted to look at the boy, then back out the window, before continuing to talk in a milder tone. “So the droids are packing up to be set up to fight the clone army when it arrives. Gives us time to look for survivors here and pack up. We shouldn’t be here when the clones arrive.”

“Why not?”

“The Republic and Mandalorians don’t get along,” Said Serim. “They think we’re… dangerous.”

Din blinked at that, hooking an arm over Serim’s shoulder as they continued to look out the window at the ruined city. “But you are... that’s how you stopped the droids. It’s good that Mandalorians are dangerous, right?”

Serim chuckled, ruffling Din’s hair. “You’re right, kiddo. We are, but the Republic thinks that dangerous people need to be completely under their control, in their army, or we’re a hazard. They think that because our culture has always favored the bounty hunter and mercenary that we’re liable to hurt people. They don’t understand, and the Duchess who installed herself-” He fell silent a moment, then continued speaking in a less agitated tone.

“There’s a faction of people… Mandalorian blood through and through but, well,” he sighed regretfully. “They’ve decided our warrior ways are shameful, that those of us who swear to the Creed are primitive and violent thugs, and they spend a lot of time talking down their own history to try and fit in with other cultures.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know all the reasons, I can’t read minds,” Serim huffed softly. “They want to say that they’re above the violence of the past, and yes, bad things happened in Mandalorian history that we- our ancestors- caused but that is the case with any sentient people, and trying to erase the past and say it never happened is a great way to repeat the mistakes of your ancestors.”

“Oh,” Din looked back out the window. “Would the clones try to fight you?”

“Maybe, it depends on what kind of General is leading them, usually,” Serim hummed. “It’s best to avoid the situation though. The Republic thinks us adopting orphans like you is dangerous, that we might force children away from their parents and take them for our own.”

“Paz said you try to find our families first though, and if you can’t, then you’ll take care of us.”

“That is the Way, yes,” Said Serim. “But they don’t understand that. They think it’s better for you to stay on your home planet without a parent than to be adopted and taught our ways.”

Din clutched at Serim’s neck at the idea of being left alone. He didn’t want that. Serim wasn’t his father, but he was Safe, and he was kind, and Din already felt reliant on him. To be separated would rip open the slowly scabbing wound that was the traumatic separation from his mother and father. He couldn’t bear the thought. Serim shifted his grip slightly and then continued walking down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Local Death Watcher Prevents Self From Ranting Politics At Child.


	5. Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is a slightly weak chapter, but it’s a connective piece. Originally I thought about writing a droid attack on the Covert, but decided to give Din a more peaceful send off to Mandalore. We get some Serim POV too.

“Are you going to be alright here when I go out?” Serim asked. Din nodded as he looked around the Foundling room, which had changed shape. Now there were only two cots around the wall, and these seemed more there in a just-in-case capacity than anything. The children in the room were somewhat different too, though he spotted Keri, sitting with a young Mandalorian who had his helmet off, though it was resting in his lap. He laughed, and Din realized that it was Paz. Another Mandalorian stood over Paz, their helmet tucked under their arm and a warm smile on their face.

Din looked up at Serim. “Yes, Ser- Buir. I’ll be okay.”

“No wandering out, understood?” Serim said, a smile in his voice. Din nodded. Serim knelt down and leaned forward, pressing the crown of his mask to Din’s forehead. “Good lad, I’ll be back by morning at latest. If that happens, Paz and Abara will take care of you tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” Said Din, trusting Serim implicitly. He walked up to where Keri has grabbed Paz’s helmet and was trying it on, trying to see through the visor. Paz was laughing, indulging her curiosity. Din looked up at the young Mandalorian with curiosity, noting his sharp features. The other turned towards him and he thought they must be a lady, except he’d never seen a lady with such short hair.

“Hello Din,” She- _they?_ Said, he perked up, recognizing the voice. This was the nice Mandalorian lady that he’d met when Serim first brought him here. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” He said, looking up at her. “I’ve never seen a girl with hair as short as yours before!”

Paz sucked in a long breath through his teeth, something Din had heard done before when someone said something wrong, though he had no idea what he might’ve done. Abara laughed gently though.

“Well, some girls have short hair, even shorter than mine. But I’m not a girl.”

“Oh,” he said, looking down. “I heard your voice and thought you were.”

“That’s alright,” said the Mandalorian. “I’m not a boy or a girl, if you’re talking about me, you can call me a They, alright?”

He nodded, a little confused. “If you’re not a boy or girl, what are you?”

“A Mandalorian,” he was told. He blinked thoughtfully, accepting it in the way that children accepted things that adults told them.

Keri giggled from inside Paz’s helmet, holding it up with one hand so she could see through the visor, the other pointing at Din like she was holding a gun. “I’ll get you!”

Din stared at her, affronted, and Paz laughed gently, redirecting Keri’s ‘aim’. “Don’t attack your allies, Vod’ika. How about you go after those droids over there?” He pointed at couple block towers that someone must’ve set up at some point, but were presently abandoned. Keri squealed, charging at the towers, knocking one over in her flailing, then tripping over a block. The Helmet made quite a noise hitting the floor. Keri flailed then dragged herself out of Paz’s helmet, face screwed up in fright. Paz picked her up, speaking soothingly.

Abara chuckled, turning to Din. “How are you settling in with Serim?”

“He’s nice,” Said Din. “He taught me to say Remembrance for my Mom and Dad.”

“That’s good,” they said to him. “The Remembrance is very important. Will you say it again today?”

Din nodded seriously. “He said that most Mandalorians say it every evening. I’m going to be a Mandalorian, so I should do it too, and it… helps.”

“Good,” Said Abara, resting a hand on his head gently. “So you’re happy with Serim?”

“Yes… but,” Din said, hunching up. Abara knelt before him, looking serious.

“Yes? What’s wrong?”

“He’s really nice and kinda feels like he could be my dad, but I don’t… I don’t love him like he’s my dad,” Din admitted with a whisper. Abara chuckled softly, scooping him up.

“Oh Din, don’t you worry about that,” they told him. “You’ve only known Serim for a day. Of course you don’t love him, not yet. I did not love Paz when I first met him, and he did not love me. We were too new, even though we were now siblings.”

Paz looked up at hearing his name and nodded, still soothing Keri. Abara turned back to Din with a serious look in their eyes, so Din paid attention.

“When Serim took you in, he did it despite not feeling the love of a father for a child. He didn’t know you. How could he love you? How could you love him without knowing him? But he saw you and knew you needed him, and that he could give you a good life. He took you up and claimed you for his own. That was a choice he made, and it’s like planting flower seeds. The Flowers aren’t there yet, but they will be, you just have to tend the garden until they grow.”

They mussed Din’s hair with an affectionate smile. “You will grow to love your buir, same as he’ll grow to love you. You already like him, and feel safe with him, don’t you? That is the start of love.”

“Oh,” he said, feeling better at that. “Then there’s nothing wrong.”

“Good,” they told him with a chuckle. “Being a Foundling means you were chosen. It’s not the same as being born to a parent, but it’s just as good, if not better. Happenstance did present you to Serim, but he chose you.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing to be born of Mandalorians, vod.” said Paz. Din looked at him and noted he seemed annoyed. Abara hummed, smiling playfully.

“My little brother is self-conscious because he was born out of our buir, whereas she got to pick me,” they told Din in a mock-serious tone. Paz over their shoulder rolled his eyes. “The Vizla family took me in when I was thirteen and Paz was three. But I was born to Mandalorians like him.”

Din rubbed at his eyes, confused. “Then why did you get adopted? Wouldn’t you like it better to stay with your real parents?”

“I Loved, and still love my birth parents,” Said Abara. “But Makas and Suiva Vizla are my real parents as much as Radko and Vhita Ranov who gave their genes for me. My birth family died out, and there was no one to take me in and train me. The Vizlas were friends, and they came looking for me and took me in. A Real Parent is one who protects and cherishes their child. Bloodlines do not matter. If you feel safe with Serim, if you know that he will care for, cherish and protect you, then he is as much your real father as the man who sired you.”

“Okay,” Din agreed. The words were Good and he felt good to know that Serim could be his Real Dad too without it meaning that his First- his birth- dad had to be forgotten about.

* * *

Serim didn’t return by night. Instead, Paz and Araba helped Din with saying the right words of Remembrance, and then Abara stood, lifting their mask to their face, hiding their true self behind the T-visor.

“I will see you in a day or two, Vod’ike,” They said to Paz and Keri. “Be well.”

“And you, Ori’vod,” said Paz, Keri imitating him. Din sat on one of the spare bunks and watched them go, worrying his lower lip. Paz gave a big yawn and stretched, glancing at Din. “My parents are going to come pick up Keri at some point, then it’s just you and me until your buir gets back.”

“Oh,” Said Din. “Where are all the other kids?”

“With their Finders,” Paz answered. “Well.. not true, we managed to track down a couple of their parents already. So a couple are back with their families.”

Din felt a pang of longing. That was no option for him and he knew it. He wanted Serim to teach him to be a Mandalorian, but he still wished for his mom and dad. If he woke up and this’d all been a dream… he’d have been happy with that.

Keri scrubbed at her face sleepily, sitting up on one of the bunks. Din sat on the other, feeling restless. He tugged on a thread that was fraying from his sleeve, not wanting to sleep. The door opened and he sat up, hoping for Serim, but instead it was Paz’s mother (He shrank back shyly, remembering her temper) and another Mandalorian he didn’t know, but had to be Paz’s father. Keri perked up to see them, smiling at them, though not without some shyness. She was scooped up into the woman’s arms. Paz’s mom gently touched the little girl’s chin and bent her head down. Keri touched her forehead to the grey helmet and closed her eyes a long moment, before pulling back and turning to the other Mandalorian, who greeted her in similar fashion. Din watched with open curiosity.

Keri wrapped her arm around her new mother’s neck for support and waved to Din. He shyly raised his hand to wave goodbye, and got a look he couldn’t decipher from the father’s visor. And then parents and young child stepped out the door, and Din was alone with Paz.

He sighed, tucking his hands onto his feet. Paz crouched in front of him. “Not tired?”

“No…”

“Hmm… how about a holovid?”

Din brightened at that. His family hadn’t had a holoplayer. Paz pulled out a few disks, letting Din make the choice. Once he’d chosen, Paz started it up for him, but then lightly poked him in the forehead for attention. “If you get bored and want to leave the room, please tell me. I’m gonna have a nap while you’re watching the Vid, okay? When it’s done wake me up.”

“Okay,” He said, dragging the blanket off one of the cots to watch the vid. He glanced back to see Paz sit against the wall, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. He turned back to the holoshow, and forgot about everything but the characters for a while.

When he glanced back at Paz, the young man was already asleep. He looked very tired. Suddenly Din wondered if he’d been guarding the foundling room since Din had last been in it. But that’d been all night… surely Paz had gotten a chance to rest during those long hours.

* * *

* * *

He paced the empty streets silent, scanning back and forth with the flashlight on his helmet. His comm beeped and he paused, putting a hand up to the side of his helmet to respond. “Clear here.”

 _-”No sign of further droid activity in this section either,”-_ Came the voice of his squad leader. _-”I think we’re good. Let’s head back to the Covert and call it. We need to be gone by tomorrow.”-_

”Roger, chief,” he replied.

Serim Ghyrs sighed, stretching his back. He checked his map for the shortest walking route, not wanting to jetpack unless it was an emergency; it was as effective as lighting a beacon that said “THIS WAY TO THE MANDALORIAN HIDEOUT.” Finding a suitable path, he started walking.

Walking! It always took up the most time in recon, and he hated it. It chewed into time he could be doing better things, like getting cleaned up and sleeping off his headache. He had a little boy back at the Covert to think about now too, and he wished that they’d managed to be done sooner, if only so that the kid wouldn’t worry about him. Hopefully the Vizla kid was keeping him occupied. When he’d wandered in the morning prior to not see his Foundling anywhere, he’d near on had a heart attack before Paz had told him that one of the Hasiid Tribe was carrying the kid around since Din had refused to sleep much.

At the very least it’d meant that Serim had been able to catch some shuteye with the kid (Apparently sleeping in the same room was in fact a Bonding activity?) instead of having to hand him off again right away so he could rest while the kid was full of energy. Finding his boy asleep over the shoulder of an old hunting buddy had been pretty nice too; he’d taken a couple moments to catch up with Rohlan before taking his new son back into his arms.

Manda, the way the boy had melted into his arms once he’d recognized Serim’s voice. He’d almost gone weak in the knees at the show of trust. Children were too soft, too innocent, and the fact that Serim had barely stepped in in time to prevent him being _murdered_ …

He kicked a little too viciously at a downed droid as he walked by it. Damn the people who’d programmed the things. For all his problems with the Republic, their soldiers were not child-killers. It wasn’t even the _bare minimum_ of decency to be unwilling to kill a child, but it was better than the Separatists.

That was maybe unfair to the Republic’s slave-soldiers. From what he’d heard they were generally good people, but they were brainwashed chattels to a system that pretended to be honorable when it had no problem ordering the creation of a billion slaves to fight a war. They truly thought that their Republic and their Sorceror Generals had the best interests of all in mind.

Pfhah. Politics. And people thought _Mandalorians_ were the barbaric group because their leaders settled grievances in person with their blades instead of through proxies that devastated worlds. Who were the Barbarians, those chieftains who only risked their own lives for their beliefs, or those Politicians who risked the lives of their peons while they stayed locked away in their Ivory towers, unharmed?

A rustling sound snapped Serim back to full awareness of his surroundings and he tensed, turning his head to see what had caused it. Seeing little more than a scavenging hound, he sighed and set about heading back to the Covert as directly as possible.

* * *

He paused at the doorway to the Creche and smiled at what he saw. The Vizla child was splayed out on the floor, snoring softly, helmet tucked under his arm. Tucked carefully around him was a blanket that’d been dragged off of one of the childrens’ cots. Very much evidence of who’d dozed off first.

There was a nest of pillows and blankets in front of the holoplayer, which was repeating the options screen of a kids’ film, and a shock of dark hair was just barely visible from within. Serim went over to the nest and gently pulled back the blanket to find what he’d expected; a sleeping child. Grinning fondly, he gently brushed some of the hair away from Din’s face, before moving to look at the Vizla boy.

He felt a twinge of pity seeing dark circles under the young man’s eyes. Paz looked like he hadn’t been able to catch any sleep since he’d been put in charge of the Foundling Creche. Serim hated to wake him, but he knew the young man would panic if he woke and Din was gone. He cleared his throat, and Paz jolted upright.

“Evening,” He said to the young man. “I’m taking Din back to bed with me now.”

“Oh… Serim,” Paz said, letting out a big yawn. “I… yeah… okay,” He paused, looking suddenly nervous. “I… uh wasn’t sleep-”

“It’s fine, Paz, you need to rest too. I know your mother’s not happy about it, but you’ve been in charge of the creche for three days straight. You need to sleep sometimes, despite what she seems to think,” Serim scooped up his sleeping Foundling, Din mumbling and rousing some. “Hello Vod’ika, it’s just me, we’re going to bed now.”

“Mmbbrrlllmmm…”

Serim chuckled, feeling very soft all of a sudden as Din snuggled into his shoulder. How could he not automatically soften with this trusting little bundle? Paz rubbed at his eyes and Serim nodded to him. “Get some sleep while you can boy. It’s going to be busy packing up for Mandalore tomorrow.”

“Yessir,” Said Paz, pushing to his feet. “Thank you.”

Serim headed for his quarters, supporting the little boy against his shoulder.

* * *

Not every Mandalorian wanted to become a Finder. Not every Mandalorian wanted the responsibility that came with taking in a child. But they knew the Creed, and more than that, they understood the importance of protecting young lives. Children had nothing without adults to guard and guide them, and they’d had no choice about being brought into the universe. By their very existence, children were owed comfort and care, but too often, they received not enough.

Serim had often thought of raising a child, but the only person he might’ve ever wanted to conceive one with had not desired him in return. He’d wondered if and when he’d be presented with a Foundling who needed him, and finally having one of his own brought a mix of feelings. He’d never _wished_ to Find a child to adopt, because that would’ve meant wishing that a family was torn apart for his sake. But he was glad to have been there to save Din. He was exhausted emotionally from just one day of adapting to life with the small being that now shared his space.

But he was also awed by the utter trust given to him. Though he’d slept poorly the night prior due to the boy climbing into his bed and snuggling under his arm, the fact that he was considered safe enough to seek out after only a day was humbling. He ran his gloved fingers through the boy’s curly hair and quietly promised that he’d never give Din reason to doubt his trust. He owed the boy that.

Coming to his room, it took a little effort to key the door open but he managed it without waking the child. He carefully settled Din into his own cot and tucked him in without bothering to try and stuff the snoozing boy into sleepwear. His dayclothes would survive being rumpled.

Serim sighed, undoing his gunbelt and hanging it on the high peg. He made a mental note to rearrange his room at home as soon as they got there so the boy couldn’t get at any weapons. Thank Manda he’d thought to put everything out of reach last time. He set his helmet down and then looked over the rest of his gear and shrugged. He hadn’t seen any action, and while he would stink when he finally peeled off his under layer to shower, he was tired.

So he crawled into bed and settled down, glancing one last time at his young charge to ensure Din was resting comfortably.

* * *

* * *

Din woke up someplace different than where he last recalled being. He sat up, looking around uneasily until he recognized the room as being Serim’s. There was soft snoring and he peeked to see the Mandalorian stretched out on his bunk, fully armored. He reburied himself under his blanket, feeling secure. Serim had come back for him again, just like he’d promised.

* * *

Din had sat with his parents and watched the spaceships at the starport once. It had been common to see them come in, landing gear extending, blowing up dust as they lowered themselves delicately to ground, hissing as if relieved when they were finally settled on firm earth. He’d always wanted to try flying.

He clung on to Serim’s belt as he’d been instructed, as his adoptive parent’s arms were occupied with a bundle of personal belongings. The hot wash from a ship’s revving engines flowed over him as they walked towards the boarding ramp. They were going to fly into space and see another planet, they were going to travel the stars to Din’s new home. He shuddered despite the hot air around him, fear and exhilaration bounding equally in his chest. They paused as one ship lifted off, and Din watched it go with wide eyes. Serim was distracted talking to another Mandalorian, but Din didn’t mind as long as he kept his hold on the warrior’s belt, they couldn’t be separated, and he felt secure.

He saw other Mandalorians loading up their ships, a few other children walking with them with carried in arms. There was Paz and his family; Keri was being carried on Abara’s hip as the others all hauled cargo aboard a largish ship. Din waved to the other Foundling, and got a wave and happy shout in return that had her family turning to glance over. He waved to them as well, and grinned brightly when Abara returned the gesture. Paz’s hands were full, but he tilted his helmet, and Din thought he was smiling.

Serim shifted his weight, causing Din to look up at him, and Serim glanced down, helmeted head tilting. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” He said stoutly. Serim chuckled fondly.

“Don’t worry, We’ll be getting on the same ship as the Vizlas. We’re part of the same tribe.”

“Oh!” He said, brightening at that. He liked Keri, Abara and Paz, even if their mom was kinda scary. “Can we go there?”

“In a moment, Ad’ika,” Serim promised. “We’re waiting for that ship to take off first,” He nodded to a sleek grey thing with wings that pointed upwards. “Or we’ll get blown over by its jetwash.”

Din nodded, seeing a couple Mandalorians armored in the same colors as his Finder- _Buir_ heading up the ramp on the other ship and wondered why Serim had brought him this way instead of the way everyone else was going to their ship. Serim continued to chat with his old friend, quite relaxed.

The sleek grey ship thrummed deeply. Din watched with fascination as the engines began to glow and the boarding ramp hissed shut. Lightly the ship leapt into the sky, and its wings folded downwards as if pushing it away from the ground. He felt the pressure of hot air blown over him from the mighty engines, and was glad that they’d stood so far away from it while it set up to leave. Serim said his goodbyes and led Din aboard the big ship that the Vizlas had disappeared onto, and Din continued to hold tight to his Buir’s belt as instructed.

The hallways were stark white, and Din thought that they reminded him of a medical clinic, though when they turned a corner there was a symbol he didn’t recognize that had clearly been spray painted to the wall. A fearsome tusked skull of some kind. He paused to touch it, and his hesitation had Serim stop a moment as well.

“That’s a Mythosaur,” The man told him. “It’s the Sigil of the Mandalorians.”

“Oh,” Said Din, looking at the spray painting a moment, brushing his fingers over it. Then Serim led him to a long room full of bunks embedded in the walls. He looked around, seeing other Mandalorians with the same sort of Armor as Serim putting their things on these bunks, or the little shelves built above them. He squished shyly to Serim’s side.

Serim set down his bundle on one of the bunks, and ruffled at Din’s hair reassuringly. Soothed by the touch, Din shifted his grip from the Mandalorian’s belt to his hand without thinking. There was a twitch of gloved fingers and small hitch in Serim’s breathing that he hardly noticed. Then one of the others in gunmetal armor turned to look at them, and Din hunched up a little under the inspection.

“So you’re the new kid, eh?”

Din looked up at Serim for help, but all he got was a patient silence, so he returned his gaze to this other Mandalorian. “Yes?”

“Welcome aboard,” He said, offering Din his hand. Din hesitated, then reached out the hand that wasn’t grasping tightly at Serim’s thumb to lightly touch the other Mandalorian’s glove. He got a chuckle. “Serim said you want to learn to be a Mandalorian right? You should know how to shake hands properly.”

“Not right now, Kasov,” Said Serim with a soft snort. “I’m going to take Din up to the cockpit so he can see out the window.”

Din looked up at his adoptive parent with surprise, brightening excitedly at the idea. However, the other Mandalorian wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“It’ll just be a moment, and it’s important. Here boy, give me your arm.” He reached out his hand. Din hesitated, glancing up at Serim, who audibly sighed through his helmet and nodded slightly. Din shyly extended his right arm out, still clinging to Serim with his left hand.

Kasov wrapped his fingers around Din’s forearm. “Now you grab my arm the same way. When Mandalorians greet, we do this to show that if our comrades need our help up, we will reach out and grab them to pull them to safety.”

Din mimicked the clasp, his little hand not reaching all the way around the armored wrist, but he nodded his understanding. That did sound important. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” he was informed. Din gave the other Mandalorian a sunny smile at the praise, grip on Serim’s hand relaxing a little. There was a chuckle from his Finder as Kasov stood up again. “Alright, I won’t stop you and your Buir from going to watch the lift off. But when I see you again you better remember how to greet me. I’ll even test it by picking you up by the handshake. Deal?”

Din giggled. “Okay.”

“Good!” Said Kasov, heading back for his bunk and pulling off his helmet. As they left the room, Din reflected on the greeting he’d just been taught, following along behind his Buir eagerly. They turned down a couple halls, and then Serim picked him up before hitting a button. A door slid open and they were in a strange room with big windows. Up near the front sat two Mandalorians, their helmets resting at their side. There was a chair off to the side of the door with some kind of screen, and at it, seated sideways to face forward was Abara with Keri in their lap.

Serim gestured with a finger up in front of his mask that Din stay quiet when the boy was about to say a greeting to the other Foundling. Din nodded and quietly waved to the girl, who beamed back at him. The two pilots were talking to each other and flipping switches. Every time a switch was hit, there was a sound; the engines powering up, a mechanical whirr, or some kind of beeping.

“Hyperdrive is running and functional, navigation online, secondary power systems-”

“Online, comm scramblers appear to be functioning as needed. Okay, ready for takeoff.”

“Good,” One of the Mandalorians depressed a button. “This is _Tegaanalir Cuir_ , we are powered up with ramp up and we are ready to depart, anyone close at hand about to do the same?”

There was a voice over the radio saying that there was no one in range of their wash, and that the _Beviin B’gra’tua_ would wait for them to go first. Serim stood by the window and Din couldn’t help but to lean over and press up against the transparisteel to watch as the ground fell away. The thrum of the engines deepened, but he’d expected a sharper farewell, somehow. It was like when he’d been carried away by Serim’s jetpack but faster, and he couldn’t feel the air moving.

The ship powered up through the atmosphere, and Din watched as the blue sky began to darken. He was fascinated, trying to peer backwards as the home he’s always known shrank away until he couldn’t recognise it anymore. He let out a little sound, suddenly thinking that he’d never see that place again. All the things he’d had at home would stay there without him. He wondered why it hadn't occurred to him before.

“Leaving Atmo now,” said one of the pilots. “Four minutes until we’re far enough to hit the Hyperlane.”

He could see the whole planet now, glowing behind them. It looked like a gemstone resting on black cloth. It was beautiful and he couldn’t quite recognise it as the same place that he’d left mere minutes ago. He glanced forward to see that there was no blue left, only an endless night sky, full of stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buir: Father/Mother/Parent  
> Vod'ika: Little Brother/Sister/Sibling
> 
> Ship names:  
> Tegaanalir Cuir -Rescue 4  
> Beviin B’gra’tua -Lance of Vengeance
> 
> Whomever named that second ship is a pretentious AF Mando. That thing probably has the biggest guns.


	6. Hyperlane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip back to Mandalore. Din makes a new friend, tries Mandalorian food, and gets his first lesson in combat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. It's been a while but I finally kicked my own ass into gear and got this chapter out. I have a LOT of ideas for this fic, the trick's just getting them all out there.
> 
> Verda Kyr’tsad - Warrior of Death Watch  
> Buir - Father/Mother/Parent

Din stared out the window in awe of the view. The stars were so much brighter and numerous in space compared to on-planet. A terse voice interrupted his train of thought and he looked towards the pilots, feeling Serim shift slightly as well.

“Three massive contacts coming out of hyperspace just ahead of us. Looks like we’re leaving in the nick of time.”

They seemed to come out of nowhere, and Din gasped to see the giant triangular ships looming towards them. He swallowed, looking at them in fear. Serim murmured to him that all was well.

“Repositioning around the Republic cruisers for hyper jump,” said the copilot, her voice calm. The ship rolled, and Din gasped as they were shaken, though Serim’s hold on him stayed firm. He glanced over his shoulder towards Abara nervously, and they gave a relaxed shrug. Then the ship’s engines thrummed slightly. “Calculations done, jumping to Hyperspace in three… two… one.”

The Copilot pushed a lever and the stars out the window turned to streaks of light. Din let out an involuntary “ooooh!” at the sight, and he could hear Keri doing the same. The pilots glanced over their shoulders and Din could hear their indulgent chuckles.

Serim ruffled at Din’s hair affectionately. “It’s twenty hours to Mandalore. If you get tired you can nap in my bunk, but I’m probably going to stay up and do stuff. Do you want to explore the ship?”

Din nodded. Serim hummed happily. “Good, you’re welcome to do so. But if a door doesn’t open automatically when you walk up to it, you’re not allowed in it, and we’ll know if you went in there, alright?”

“Okay,” Din said as he was put down. Keri squeaked and hopped off her sibling’s lap. Abara caught her gently by the shoulder.

“I wanna go explore with Din!” Keri exclaimed.

“Alright, but behave, some parts of the ship are scary,” Abara told them both, “There’s quite a few people on the ship, some may be sleeping. The cargo hold has a portion that’s been converted to a training room, so don’t run in anywhere or you might catch an injury.”

“Yes, Abara!” Said Keri excitedly, grabbing at Din’s hand. Din looked at her in confusion, but let her hold him.

Serim laughed softly, kneeling down in front of them and gently clasping Din’s head between his hands. Din had a flash of his father doing the same and kissing his forehead before pushing him to the ladder- Serim’s hands shifted slightly. “You’re older than Keri, so keep her out of trouble, alright?”

Din nodded, confused when Serim’s armored forehead lightly pressed against his own. He recalled seeing Paz’s parents do it with Keri, though, so he accepted it, closing his eyes a moment. Then Serim’s left hand brushed down to squeeze Din’s shoulder. It warmed him somehow, and before he thought about it too much, he wrapped his free arm around Serim’s neck and hugged the man tightly.

There was a small, affectionate chuckle out of the Mandalorian, and then Serim was standing up, giving Din a little push. “Off you go. We can track you in the ship if we need to find you.”

He nodded, following Keri’s insistent tugs out of the cockpit and down the hall.

* * *

As far as Din was concerned, the ship was massive. Certainly there was space for them to roam in the narrow halls, and every door that was left open or slid open when they passed merited investigation. There were bunkrooms, some occupied by sleeping people, others clearly appropriated as storage space. There were mysterious rooms full of monitors and buttons that they peered into but didn’t enter. There was a dining hall with a dozen people sitting in a couple little groups, chatting. Din could smell unfamiliar food, and he realized that he was hungry despite Serim having fed him breakfast a couple hours prior.

“Do you think… we’re allowed to eat something?” He asked Keri. She pursed her lips, then shrugged, walking into the room, pulling him after her as she approached the nearest group of adults. Din hung back as best he could without letting go of the younger child’s hand.

Those adults without helmets had serious looks on their faces, though one noticed the children's approach and gave them a thoughtful look. Din hunched up nervously, wondering why some were in helmets and not eating, but Keri boldly pushed herself between two of the Mandalorians, who looked down at them in surprise. “Hi! Can we eat here too?”

“Oh, hello,” said the one who’d been watching their approach. Din looked at him warily; he’d never seen whatever species this person was, and wasn’t sure what to think of the spikes on his head. He seemed pleasant though, raising a hand to point across the room. “If you want, you can go get something from Sandura over there.”

“Thank you!” said Keri happily, turning to haul Din towards where the food was being served. Din noticed everyone peering at them curiously and made an uncomfortable sound. But Keri was an unstoppable force, so he went along for the ride. She stopped at the counter, where they were each provided a plate and warned that the food was spicy. Din looked at it; it seemed like meat and vegetables in sauce over grain. Keri immediately took a bite and sneezed, Din burst out into giggles at the sight. Keri took another mouthful, her cheeks puffed out like a small rodent. “Iff Good!”

Din had to support his plate with both hands while he giggled at her terrible manners. “You’re supposed to sit down before you eat!”

“Ffoo?” She asked, swallowing. She looked up at the Mandalorian who had given them their plates with a big smile. “Thank you!”

“Your friend is right, though, you should sit down so you don’t choke,” the cook told Keri, looking greatly amused. “The spice doesn’t bother you? Good. It can be… rather too much for some Foundlings.”

“I like it!” Keri said. “My big brother was giving me sauce that made the food taste sorta like this, but this is better!”

“Brave one,” praised the cook. They glanced at Din. “If it’s too strong for you, add more of the grain to it.”

“Thank you,” Said Din politely, walking towards the nearest unoccupied table, hoping Keri would follow him. Serim had put him in charge of her! Luckily, she did, and when he set his plate on the table and pulled himself onto the grown-up sized bench, she copied him, perching at his side. Happily, Din took a bite of his food and started coughing at the taste.

His mouth was on  _ fire _ . Keri was no help, bursting out in delighted peals of laughter as he struggled to not spit his mouthful out. Finally he swallowed his mouthful, and it burned all the way down. He gave her a despairing look, unable to believe that she was capable of eating this food-shaped lava. She took a big bite and chewed happily before swallowing it down without a single problem. Disbelieving, Din stared at his food a moment before recalling that he’d been told to add grain if the flavor was too much. This was definitely too much.

He got off the bench and brought his plate back to the cook, who grinned sympathetically.

“Don’t worry, you’ll adjust to it in time,” he was told as they added the milder grains to his plate. “Not a lot of people eat their food with this much spice.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking his plate back to the table. He was surprised to see another kid had joined Keri. He paused, blinking owlishly, wondering where this other boy had come from. The other kid looked to Din and gave him a shy smile, so Din returned it and sat back down. “Hi, I’m Din!”

“I’m Ramik,” said the other youngster. “My Finder said there were other kids on the ship, so I came to find you guys!”

“I didn’t see you back at the building though?” Din asked. Ramik nodded, reaching over and stealing a bit of Din’s food. Din stuck his tongue out rudely, but snickered when the other boy choked on the mouthful of meat. He felt better knowing that he wasn’t the only one with a problem with the strong flavor.

“I- oh… wow it’s like fire…” Ramik rubbed his chest. “My Finder was a doctor and I stayed in the medbay with her.” He held up his left arm to show that it was in a sling. Din nodded in understanding. “There’s a baby that was in medbay too, but no more kids like us I think.”

“Oh,” said Din, mixing up his food and taking a bite. It was much easier to eat this way. Keri noisily scraped her bare plate, then peeked around the room. “What are you doing?”

“I wanna see where we take our finished dishes,” the other child informed him. “I’m gonna go talk to those Mandalorians, I wanna see what species that guy is!”

She giggled, getting off the bench and carrying her plate around, chattering at a couple people until someone pointed her in the direction of where to leave her dishes. Din stared after her in disbelief. He glanced at Ramik, and saw that the darker boy was resting his head on his good arm on the table.

“Isn’t it kinda rude to ask someone questions about what they are?”

“My dad always said it was,” Ramik agreed, not lifting his head. “But I dunno if the Mandalorians care. If they do they’ll tell her nicely, cause that’s what they do. I like them.”

Din nodded slowly, bringing more food to his mouth and watching as Keri insinuated herself between two Mandalorians, clambering onto the bench and boldly pointing at the man’s horns, clearly asking about them. There was an audible rumble of laughter from that table, the other child’s hands being gently pushed away as she was spoken to. Keri could be seen pouting.

“How can she do that?” Din wondered, feeling full and pushing his plate aside, a bit guilty about not being able to finish his portion. He’d always been told to take only as much as he needed. “Grown-ups can be scary. What if she went and talked to a mean one?”

Ramik shrugged. “They told me that it’s their belief that kids like us are special and we deserve to be safe. I don’t think any Mandalorian would ever be mean to us, even if they don’t like us very much.”

Din flashed back to the Mandalorian in red and black armor who he’d been nervous of. That guy had still made sure he was okay and brought him to Rohlan, who was very nice, hadn’t he? Din nodded his understanding slowly and, noticing that Ramik was staring at his plate, pushed it over to the other boy.

“Do you wanna finish it?”

“Yeah!” Ramik grabbed the plate with his good hand and pulled it closer to eat from. Din was a little miffed that he wasn’t thanked for it, (How rude!) but didn’t comment. As the other boy ate, Din checked to be sure Keri was still at the other table- She was, and apparently being allowed to examine the horns of the Mandalorian she’d been curious about. Din watched as she stood up and lightly patted the appendages. Ramik noticed the staring and looked back over his shoulder to see. “Do you think his horns are sharp?”

Din shrugged, kind of wishing he’d been bold enough to go do what Keri now was. The door to the dining hall opened and Din brightened seeing gunmetal blue armor, but then settled back down when he realized the warriors entering the hall didn’t include anyone with Serim’s three stripes. He folded his arms on the table, waiting for Ramik to be done.

One of the warriors in blue made a beeline straight for him and Din stared up at this other with wide eyes.

“Hello,  _ Verd’ika _ ,” Said the man warmly. Din smiled shyly as he recognized the voice. Kasov, Serim’s friend. “Do you remember what I taught you?”

Din hesitated a moment, and then brightened and nodded, turning around on the bench and reaching for the hand the Mandalorian offered him. He grasped tightly at Kasov’s wrist, and the man chuckled, closing his own fingers on Din’s forearm. “Hi, Kasov.”

“Excellent grip, Din. It is Din, right? Serim told me.” When Din nodded his assent, Kasov chuckled. “Now, when we say hello to other Mandalorians, we say ‘ _ Su cuy’gar _ .’”

“Oh…  _ Su cuy’gar, _ Kasov,” said Din, the words easy to sound out even if he didn’t understand them. Kasov nodded and ruffled Din’s bangs, making the boy giggle.

“There you go. It means ‘So you’re still alive’; it’s a formal hello.”

Din tittered some more at that. What a silly way to greet people! His grip on the Mandalorian’s arm slacked and Kasov looked down a moment.

“Aah! Remember what I said? We need to test your handshake.”

He couldn’t help the little gasp as he nodded eagerly, tightening his fingers again on the man’s wrist. He’d forgotten. Kasov stood up straight and lifted Din out of his seat by their clasped hands. Din couldn’t help the shriek of laughter when he was shaken a bit by the man, delighted that he didn’t slip free of Kasov’s grip. “I’m holding on!”

“Good! A strong grip,” Kasov exclaimed as he gave Din another little shake before setting him back on the ground. Din, flushed with success, beamed up at him. And then Keri was suddenly there beside him, holding her arms up to the warrior.

“Me next! Me next!”

Kasov laughed. “And who are you?”

“I’m Keri Vizla!”

“Ahh, one more for Suiva and Makas’ pack, eh?” Kasov chuckled. “Do you know how to clasp hands in greeting, Keri?”

Keri hesitated, looking down at her hand. Din, still flushed with success, grabbed it and clasped her wrist in his hand. Keri giggled and returned the gesture. Then the two children released their hands and Keri turned to Kasov, holding her hand up.

Kasov snickered under his helmet, clasping arms with her. Keri squealed when she was picked up, kicking her legs as she was shaken. Din burst out laughing at the sight, clapping his hands. There were indulgent snickers from the Mandalorians who’s attention had been drawn to the scene by the noise of laughter, and Din suddenly flashed back to home, wrestling with Dad as Mom laughed at them. Dad would pin him down and tickle him as Din shrieked and flailed and did his best to escape. He felt a pang in his chest, but then Keri was being deposited on the floor, where she fell on her bum and laughed harder.

“What about you?” Kasov asked of Ramik, who held up his broken arm sadly. “Well, you have a good hand, don’t you?”

Ramik brightened, hopping down from the bench and coming around the table, holding his hand up to Kasov. The Mandalorian gripped his arm and praised his technique, same as he did for Din and Keri. The shake he gave the injured boy was more careful, but Ramik laughed in delight anyway.

“Good, that’s three strong little warriors in training,” Kasov said with a gravitas that Din was too young to recognize as teasing. He liked the burly man with his playful voice and kind hands. If this was a friend to his new family, Din was okay with that. Ramik was gently deposited on the ground. “Now, if you’re all done eating, you three might want to move on before it gets too crowded, there’s about sixty people on this ship and half will be coming in here soon. It’ll be very loud.”

“Okay! Thank you!” Said Keri. “C’mon Din! Lets go see the rest of the ship!”

She scampered towards the door, Din yelped. “Wait! What about Ramik? Our dishes!? Serim said I was-”

She was out the door as if she hadn’t heard, Din looked wildly at Ramik then Kasov. The Mandalorian chuckled, making a shooing gesture. Din took it as permission and took off running after Keri, Ramik chasing after him. There was a roar of laughter in several voices behind them, though Din didn’t think that maybe it was about the antics of himself and the other kids. He was too busy chasing after Keri.

* * *

For a while, the three children chased each other through the halls of the ship, peeking around corners and shouting eagerly when they spotted one another. They dodged around the occasional adult who would pause to ensure no one would collide, but otherwise they were left to their own devices.

Din turned a corner, hot on Ramik’s heels, both of them fleeing from Keri, who was yowling like an angry cat that she was going to get them. Laughing, the three children zigged and zagged down the halls after each other, their delight echoing off white walls. A door opened when Ramik ran close to it, and he peeked in, then stumbled, catching himself on the frame with his good arm. Din skidded to a rapid halt, not wanting to hurt his new friend, and looked to see what had caught the other boy’s attention.

Together, they stared as there was a resounding crash of armor on armor, two Mandalorians grappling, small noises of exertion escaping them. Behind the two boys, Keri ran up, skidding and falling as she tried not to run into them. She pushed herself upright and leaned over, still on her bum, to peer in at the fighting Mandalorians.

There was a snarl from one of the fighters, grabbing at the other’s throat and trying to drag her down into her opponent’s knee. Hands wrapped around the offending leg, dragging it up and unbalancing her enemy, causing him to fall over. Din gasped, watching the clash.

“Wow!” Keri said in an eager whisper. “They’re all so strong!”

Din realized there were other Mandalorians, some standing around, others engaged in their own fights. He cowered against the doorframe, unable to look away. Ramik let out a delighted gasp and pointed at one Mandalorian standing along the far wall, wearing blue and rose gold.

“Look! There’s Jaha, my Finder!”

“Oh,” said Din, looking around. Keri squealed, pointing out her parents and… oh, there was Paz as well, trading blows with a shorter, stockier form. Din’s eyes were wide as he watched, seeing the Mandalorians matched against one another in hand-to-hand combat. He spotted familiar gunmetal-blue armor, but wasn’t sure if any of them were Serim. It seemed liked his Buir never had his helmet off around other people, Din had noticed, even though some other Mandalorians like Paz and Abara didn’t mind having theirs off sometimes. No one here was unmasked, he thought, peering around.

There was shouting across the training hall and as one, the children shrank against the doorframe. Then Din registered the hooting laughter and that the shouts were directed at a particularly vicious bout between two Blue-clad warriors. He shifted on his feet, wanting to get closer and see if Serim was part of the group. After several moments of hesitation, he moved into the room, ignoring Ramik’s nervous whisper. Keri scrambled after him and grabbed Din’s hand with a big grin. She tried to aim straight for her family, but Din gripped her tightly and dug in his heels to prevent her from running through a sparring match in progress.

A clash of metal on metal had Keri desisting, realizing her error, but Din kept a tight hold on her wrist, just in case. Hands suddenly dropped on Keri’s shoulder, and they both looked up at a Mandalorian in grey.

“Careful now, you don’t want to get in the middle of a match.”

“I’m sorry,” Said Keri, hunching over.

“Pay more attention, ad’ika,” she was told with a gentle tone. “What are you youngsters doing here?”

“There’s my family!” Keri said eagerly, pointing across the hall.

“I wanted to see if- uh… if Serim was here,” Din said quietly

“Serim… hm…. I don’t know Serim. What’s the family name?”

Din gave the Mandalorian a look of confusion and a shrug. A chuckle made him feel a bit better, and he shyly pointed to where the Mandalorians in gunmetal blue were sparring. “He wears armor like that. I think there was three stripes on his chestplate and uh… shoulder one?”

“Ahh,  _ Verda Kyr’tsad _ ,” said the Mandalorian, nodding in understanding. Din gave him a look of confusion, but Keri gasped in delight.

“That means Din’s finder’s part of the... The Grand Leader’s team?”

“Close enough,” the Mandalorian chuckled Keri’s head getting a friendly pat. Din blinked, not understanding, but it sounded important. “We’re all in service to the Mand’alor here.”

Ramik sidled up beside Din and looked up at the Mandalorian in grey. “Jaha’s my finder, she’s over there.”

“Ahh, the medic,” Said the Mandalorian with a nod, tilting their head. “Well, if you all move calmly and carefully on the marked walkways and stay out of the way of the sparring matches, you may go join your families.”

“Yeah!” said Keri with a big grin. “I’ll go see mine!”

“Jaha says most of our family is waiting on Mandalore for us,” said Ramik quietly.

Din watched as Keri carefully picked her way towards her family, considering Ramik’s words a long moment. “Most of your family?”

“Yeah,” said Ramik. “She said she has a husband who’ll be my new dad, and I’ll have a big brother and big sister, and a little sister too.”

“Yes, the Kykal clan is a lovely little family,” the Mandalorian told them. “Are you going to go see your buir?”

Ramik nodded, glancing at Din then looking at the walkways between sparring floors. Din followed his gaze, but didn’t see, thinking.

Was he going to have brothers and sisters and a new mom as well? Serim hadn’t told him anything about that. He’d thought that it’d be just him and Serim, but… maybe not? Ramik was going to be one of four kids, and that was called a little family? Hadn’t someone commented that Keri was only the latest of many Vizla children? There was Abara, who was a grown-up, and Paz, who was almost grown up; were there many more between them and the six-year-old? Did all Mandalorians have big families?

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He had been Mom and Dad’s only, and he remembered feeling… jealous at the idea of Serim taking another Foundling. What if there were others Serim had brought home before?

A hand on his shoulder made him startle, and he looked up at the Mandalorian in grey. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yes,” He said, ducking his head in embarrassment. “I was thinking…”

He slipped away, heading for the warriors in gunmetal blue, seeking armor with three stripes. There were a couple of them, and he hesitated, not sure who to go to. Finally he approached the nearest warrior; she only had one stripe on their armor, but surely this Mandalorian would know who was Serim. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked in time to see Keri pounce against her mother’s leg. He giggled in surprise as the Mandalorian startled so dramatically it had to be playacting. There was laughter from that quadrant, and Din decided to try and follow Keri’s example when it came to talking to Mandalorians; No fear.

He tapped the nearest warrior’s leg. “Hi! Is-is Serim here?”

The Mandalorian, short and stocky, looked down at him and tilted her head. “Hello, ad’ika. You must be Din.”

Din nodded eagerly, tapping her leg again. The warrior laughed, her tone warm.

“He’s sparring,” she told him, gesturing to the two warriors who looked to be trying to kill one another. Din stared, seeing that one had two stripes on her armor, and the other… that was Serim! He wouldn’t have been lied to. Din wiggled a little, wide-eyed as Serim tossed his opponent to the floor and then lunged at her, leg cocked to kick. But when the blow fell, the other Mandalorian caught his leg and dragged him to the mat.

“Come stand by the wall with the rest of us,” said the Mandalorian to Din. He nodded, following her. He leaned up on the wall and slid to a sitting position, but the nice Mandalorian leaned over and pulled him upright by the scruff of his tunic. “No, stay standing so you can dodge in case someone gets tossed out of the training ring in your direction.”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Din exclaimed. There was a snicker above him.

“No apology needed, just remember it,” she told him, patting his shoulder. Din nodded and thanked her politely. She hummed, crouching beside him and starting to explain to Din how Serim was trying to use his added height and reach as an advantage against his opponent, who had more flexibility and a lower center of gravity. Din listened with interest, watching and paying attention, the loud clash of armor on armor keeping his focus.

The match ended when another Mandalorian shouted something in their language, Serim and his opponent separating and standing, flexing out their arms and knocking their forearms together as they turned towards the wall. Two fresh warriors moved to take over the mat, and Din took a step towards Serim. The dull blue helm turned to him, and Serim redirected to come stand with his new son.

“Hello you,” he said, patting Din’s head. Din ducked his head shyly, but smiled anyway. “How long have you been here?”

“Uhh… Ramik and Keri and me were playing and we found this room and wanted to say hi to our families,” Din said. “And your fighting’s cool.”

A chuckle, Serim leaning up on the wall and tugging Din around to stand beside him, facing the sparring floor. “Glad you think so. If you want to be a Mandalorian, you’ll have to learn all about it.”

“She was teaching me a little!” Din said, pointing at the nice lady who’d explained Serim’s match to him. Serim chuckled.

“Ahh, well you can thank Gala before we go, then.”

Din nodded, standing beside Serim, who hummed softly, setting his hand on Din’s shoulder as they watched the match. When one of the fighters went down on her back, her opponent holding her in an arm bar, Serim explained how the position made it impossible to fight back without getting hurt, and asked Din how he’d try and escape it. Din couldn’t think up anything, but he was told that in a real fight, the Mandalorian in the hold would use a knife, or a flamethrower, anything to make their opponent let go.

“A fair fight and an honorable fight are different things,” Serim said. “Never forget that. There’s nothing honorable about refusing to use a weapon just because your opponent has none when you’re about to be killed.”

Din nodded, feeling his Finder’s thumb gently brushing at his shoulder, comforting in the clash and noise of the training room. It was his first taste of the training yet to come. After a time, during a lull in the fighting, he looked up at Serim.

“Ramik said he’s gonna have sisters and a brother and a mom and dad. Do you have more family?”

Serim looked down at him, shifting in a way that might’ve been surprise. “Ah, I guess you should know, hmm? I do have more family, but you’ll be my only child, Din’ika. Maybe someday that will change, but right now, it’s just you. I’m not married, but I live in the same clan home as my parents, and they’ll be your grandmother and grandfather. I’ll introduce you when we get to Mandalore.”

“Oh,” Din looked at the floor thoughtfully. No siblings, no mom, but a Grandma AND Grandpa!? That seemed very special. “Okay. Will they like me?”

“Of course they will,” Serim said fondly. “I sent a message to them the other night, so they know you’re coming. There’ll be a special family dinner when we get home to celebrate you joining the family.”

Din nodded, smiling at the thought. Special family dinners were for important events like holidays, and it pleased him to know him coming to his new home would be a holiday. Plus, that probably meant treats!

He paused a moment, and then leaned up against the Mandalorian, his  _ buir _ , resting his head against plate armor. Serim’s hand switched from Din’s shoulder to his head, carding gently through his hair, and all was right in the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verda Kyr’tsad - Warrior of Death Watch  
> Buir - Father/Mother/Parent
> 
> In the next chapter, we might start seeing OCs of mine you've met as adults!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Comments are hugely appreciated if you have inspiration to give me one.


	7. Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Mandalore.
> 
> I know I don't put a lot of mando'a translations in this fic, but since Din doesn't understand it, I like leaving the meaning uncertain at the moment. That'll change as he gets to know the language.
> 
> Please no one make fun of me for the Concordia Day/Night cycle. It’s a forest moon with breathable atmosphere to humans, orbiting a planet that is also human livable. I suspect Concordia has one heck of an orbit or something going on. So while the lunar month is predictable, it’s not steady like earth’s day/night cycle. I’m assuming Concordia’s not tidally locked either.
> 
> Ba’buir - grandparent  
> Vore entye - Formal thank you  
> Mando’ad neverd - Mandalorian civilian (Author concept) - One who is not sworn to the creed and does not wear the helmet or armor. They support their tribes in different ways. Most do have some fighting talent, considering their upbringing. Some have Mandalorian-style armor, but almost never anything made of beskar.

Peering through the viewport, Din took in the sight of Mandalore which resembled a shining, golden jewel against the blackness of space. “It’s a pretty color!”

“Mmm, sand, all sand,” Serim said at his ear. Din was sitting in his Finder’s arms so he could see out the window as Serim stood. Ramik and his buir were similarly positioned at the next porthole. Serim shifted slightly, pointing. “See that shiny silver spot there? That’s the capitol city. All the cities are in domes because the planet was damaged. The Domes make things bearable.”

“Oh,” Said Din. Serim chuckled.

“We’re going to Concordia, the moon, it’s very green and beautiful, but it has a different day and night cycle compared to what you’re used to, because it circles the planet, which circles the sun. The days and nights are uneven, but there’s a set schedule.”

“Weird!” exclaimed Ramik enthusiastically. His Finder, Jaha, laughed.

“It is when you’re used to a planet, isn’t it?” she said. “But there’s forests and rivers and lakes there, it’s much nicer than Mandalore. You’ll like it, even though we spend most of our time in the old mine tunnels.”

“Why?” asked Ramik.

“Mandalorians have always had hidden places near our homes,” Serim explained to both boys as the ship lazily rolled around the golden planet. “Coverts, we call them. The Pacifists think that we traditionalists they ‘exiled’ to Concordia decades ago have died out. Only a few pacified clans left, they believe. But we live underground, safe from them, secure as our clans grow.”

“Wow,” said Din. “Why are they called pacifists?”

“Because they won a war, then decided to change the culture and pretend they won without violence, and were better than those of us who wanted to maintain the old ways,” his buir told him, tone neutral.

“How come they don’t know you… we are still around?” Ramik asked. There was a small pleased noise from his new mother, who answered the question.

“They took over the Registers of Mandalore, the list of all children born or taken in when they won the old war,” she said. “By their law all children must be registered, and Foundlings are no longer allowed except for special situations. We made our own Registry; it’s too important, but they will never find it. The births recorded in their registry are few. We only showed them a few clans dwindling, when the truth is, we are growing stronger every year. The Pacifists do not know that many of us exist. They will not know you exist: to the galaxy at large, you were lost to the droids.”

“And our strength continues to grow along with our families,” Serim added, lightly poking Din’s nose, earning a delighted giggle. “You are Mando’ad now, Din Djarin. And after you are registered and I formally adopt you, you will be Din Djarin of Clan Ghyrs.”

“And you will be Ramik Fuil of Clan Kykal,” Jaha said to her Foundling. Ramik blinked at her, wrapping his good arm around her neck.

“Why am I Ramik Fuil, not Ramik Kykal?” He asked. There was a chuckle out of Jaha.

“As far as those you are introduced to are concerned, you will be Ramik Kykal, and if you wish that it be your proper name, it can be. But this way, you can carry your birth family with your formal name. Their name is still with you, even though you’re part of our clan. Most, but not all Foundlings hold their first names in their hearts.”

“Same goes for you, Din’ika,” Serim said. “You will be Din Ghyrs to most people.”

“Do people treat you… differently for keeping your old name?” Din asked shyly. Serim shook his head.

“No. Your true name is known only to you and those closest to you. Your name should mean the most to you, personally. Many Mandalorians change their personal names during their lives to something that means more to them. Some who marry into other clans change their family name to match, others do not. Many add the clan name to their own.”

Din blinked, the whole concept a little above his head. He looked out the window and gasped, pointing. “Is that the Moon!?”

“Yes, that’s Concordia,” Said Serim. “And that is your new home.”

The moon was wrapped in shadow cast by Mandalore as their orbit of the planet brought them closer to their destination. The ship’s roll changed, and suddenly they were descending towards the darkened landscape. Din pressed up against the window, the stars he could see having an unfamiliar order and flicker to them. The ship cruised down into a valley, slowing further and further until suddenly it turned into a valley wall, and all was artificial light as it slipped into a docking bay.

* * *

Disembarkment took little time for the families with children. They grabbed their things and were first off as every other warrior headed for the store rooms to help unload crates. Din was walking beside Serim, clutching at his belt the same way he’d done when they’d first boarded the ship. The docking bay was a vast cavern, lit from above by huge spotlights. The air was cool enough to raise goosebumps, and he wished for his mother’s warm arms. But she was dead. He knew what it meant; he’d learned when Gramma died; they’d wrapped her in the blankets she’d passed in, and Mom had gone with neighbors to dress Gramma’s body in her fanciest clothes while Dad took Din and a group of men to dig a hole at a graveyard. 

Gramma had been placed in a box and buried in the hole, a pretty glass sculpture above her head. Din’s breath hitched softly, and he wondered if anyone would dress his mom and dad in their best clothes and bury them in the ground with pretty glass statues. He hoped so. Thinking about it made his throat swell until it seemed like he couldn’t breathe and his eyes itch. He gripped a little tighter to Serim’s belt, following him blindly down the ramp. As long as he was with Serim, he knew Mom and Dad were gone, but it was okay… it would be okay. When he was separated from the Mandalorian, even a passing thought of his parents seemed to freeze in his head and make everything fuzzy.

He stumbled at the bottom of the ramp, catching himself on Serim’s belt. The Mandalorian paused, helmet turning to look at him.

“Alright?”

“Sorry,” Din said, looking down.

“You did nothing wrong,” Serim said gently, “Come on, I see Te-buir and I want to greet her, and I know she wants to greet you.”

“Te-Buir?” Din asked in confusion, looking in the direction Serim nodded. There was a big window built into the docking bay’s wall, and through it, he could see people waiting, some in armor, some not.

“My mother’s name is Tero,” Serim explained. “So I call her Te-Buir, and my father, Ragiz is Ra-Buir. That’s how most Mandalorian children distinguish between their parents.”

“Okay,” Din said, looking at the small crowd and feeling anxious. He heard an exclamation out of Abara, and turned to see them holding Keri, pointing at people on the other side of the window.

“There’s Fen, he’s second oldest after me. Buir’e left him in charge of the others, you see. That’s Grandma Tala there, she’s Ma-Buir’s mother-”

Din was privately relieved that he wouldn’t have to remember as many people as Keri apparently had to. That was a big family! He could see them clustered at the viewing window. Some adults in armor, some kids in clothing, and teenagers all helmeted and wearing partial armor. He wondered what his new grandma would be like.

They walked through an automatic door then turned into the waiting room. Serim took him towards a Mandalorian in red armor, the tips of her T-visor seemingly sharpened into knife points. Serim turned slightly so his boxes were out of the way and bowed his head as the woman clasped either side of his helmet with her hands. Din watched at the Mandalorians’ helmets gently clicked together, resting like that a long moment. Then they pulled apart, both looking down at the boy.

“Din, this is my mother, Tero,” Serim said. “Buir, this is Din Djarin, my Foundling.”

“Hello cyar’ika,” said the woman in red. She crouched slowly in front of him and offered him her arms. “I’m your ba’buir now.”

Din shuffled shyly, clinging to Serim’s belt but reaching his other hand out to the woman to offer the clasp Kasov had taught him. She chuckled, gently catching his wrist and bringing his hand to her cuirass instead, pressing it to the elongated hexagon in the center. Din stared at her hesitantly, looking up at Serim, who he could feel watching him. There was a small jerk of the man’s head, and Din understood it to be encouragement; Serim wanted Din to approach his new grandma.

He hesitated and edged a bit closer to Tero, keeping his grip on Serim’s belt. The older woman cupped his face with the hand that wasn’t holding his, and Din could feel himself being examined. He glanced to where Ramik was being introduced to his family, then back at Tero. “Hello.”

“There’s a strong lad,” she said to him. “I know everything’s new and confusing now, but you’re safe here, we’ll take good care of you.”

“I know,” Din said quietly. How could he not? He’d been safe from the moment he’d first grasped Serim’s hand. He looked more closely at Tero’s armor now, the center of her chestplate that he could see under his hand was a glossy black, contrasting strongly to the red that was the main color of her gear. She had black markings amongst the red, and Din thought it looked really pretty. Hanging over one shoulder were braided ropes of various colors, and he curiously touched one. Tero chuckled.

“Come walk with me, Din, so your buir can carry his things more easily.”

“Okay,” Din said, taking her offered hand this time and stepping a little closer. Tero stood up, guiding him at her side. Din twisted to check that Serim was right behind them, and only relaxed when he saw that was the case. He followed along after his new grandma, listening to his new father’s relaxed pace behind them, looking around the hallway. “Do we live in these tunnels?”

“No, cyar’ika,” Tero told him. “This is the shuttleport. Families live a bit further away from the areas that would be attacked in a war. Only the active warriors come live here.”

“Oh,” said Din, looking around. There were halls branching off the one they walked, and the lights were warm and bright in several places, almost like sunlight. He glanced back at Serim, then up at Tero. “What does Shree-ka mean?”

“Shar-ee-ka,” Said Tero, drawing the word out. “‘Cyare’ is beloved, and ‘Ika’ makes the word diminutive. Little darling, sweetheart.”

Din blushed, looking at the floor.

* * *

There was a floating cart waiting for them outside. Din glanced at it as Serim unloaded his armful of possessions at the front, then looked around. It was very dark out, and Din could see Mandalore above, seemingly lit from behind. There were glowing lights on the planet itself, and he stared, thinking about how pretty it was.

“Don’t look too hard, the sun could blind you when the planet moves,” Tero told him. Din looked to her instead. “We’re in Mandalore’s umbra right now; give it an hour and it will be daytime.”

“Umbra?”

“Mandalore is between the sun and Concordia right now, as Concordia orbits, it’ll come back out into the sun,” Serim told Din. “We don’t use the light on Concordia to tell the time because the cycle is different than on a planet, because the planet affects the amount of sun we get. That’s why we live underground - we have an artificial day-night cycle.”

“Okay,” Din said, not understanding. There was a chuckle out of Serim.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Tero released Din’s hand and he clambered into the cart, looking around. The nighttime air was warmer than inside the shuttleport, and while the lack of light let him see quite a ways, everything was shapes of grey in the darkness. He noticed some lights and peered that way with open curiosity.

“What’s that?”

“Ah, that’s the settlement of people that the Pacifists think is all that’s left of Concordia’s population. The Mand’alor lives there, but they think he’s just a governor,” Serim chuckled.

“Okay,” Said Din. He didn’t understand, but he didn’t really care either. Serim bent over to pick him up, and Din giggled, wrapping his arms around the warrior’s neck. He pushed his cheek against the side of Serim’s helmet, clinging. Serim let out a small noise, shifting Din around a little.

“You need to sit in the cart and hold your spot. The Kykals will be coming out in a moment and this is their cart we’re riding.”

“You mean Ramik’s family?” Din asked, brightening. “What about Keri and Paz and Abara’s family?”

“The Vizlas are going to town first;” Serim explained, though Din thought there was something like a frown in his voice. “Some of them live there, and Paz is old enough that his Parents have allowed him to move into the warrior’s barracks. Suiva is the Mand’alor’s cousin, and he’s offered to have Paz trained by his personal guard. It’s quite an honor for him.” 

“Indeed,” said Tero. “He’s rather young for it, not an adult quite yet, but the Mand’alor is family to him, and he has no close relatives of his own. So I suppose it’s understandable that he’d want to get to know his relations better.”

“Oh,” Said Din. “I like Paz.”

“You’ll see him again, don’t you worry,” Tero promised, as Serim set him in the front of the cart. “All Foundlings get presented to the Mand’alor after they’re formally adopted. I’m sure that Paz will be part of the ceremonial guard just so he gets to see his _Vod’ika_ again.”

Din nodded, not knowing the word, but knowing it meant Keri. He looked around the cart and noticed a weird blinky dome at the front of it. He crawled over and poked it. It beeped at him reprovingly and suddenly Din was back in the cellar, trapped and alone, glowing robotic eyes looking down at him without feeling as the monster lined up to kill him. _A droid!_ He scrambled backwards with a frightened yelp and hit the rim of the cart, nearly tumbling out of it, but for the sudden presence of Serim’s armor-covered hands.

The droid trilled and beeped, and it wasn’t at all like the whirring monster that had cornered him, but glowing sensor-eyes still observed him, pinning him under their unfeeling stare. He hid under Serim’s chin from the droid, heart throbbing painfully in his chest, feeling ready to vomit.

“Easy, easy, Ad’ika. It’s just an astromech,” Serim said gently. Din pressed up against his chestplate for comfort, trembling. “It’s okay, Din.”

Tero said something in Mando’a and Serim grunted, lifting Din out of the cart and carrying him a few paces away. Din sniffled quietly, his chest heaving, wanting away from the little robot. Voices made him peek around, and he saw Ramik and his Finder, Jaha, with the rest of their family. As they approached, Din hid again under Serim’s chin.

He could hear the other children chattering and clambering onto the hovercart, Jaha and some man Din didn’t know herding the kids. The droid chattered loudly at the rowdy group, and Din flinched, chest tightening. The pounding in his chest muted everything but the cries of people being shot at, even though there was no fire, no ozone-

Someone was crying. He was crying too, tears dripping down his cheeks as Serim soothingly rubbed his head, but Din’s sobs were silent, and there was someone else choking and gasping loudly. Childish voices were asking if someone was okay, what happened, and adults were speaking calmly. He shuddered, hiding his face in the Mandalorian’s cowl.

“Easy Ramik, there you go, sit up.”

“-Why’s he hyper-venting? Geetoo just beeped at him-”

“-Did his arm get hurt again?”

“Didn’t even think about the droid...” Tero said lowly to Serim. Din felt his _buir_ nod but didn’t leave the safety of his shoulder.

“-Why’s he scared of Geetoo, Koo-buir?”

“ _Gev!_ All of you give him some room to breathe!” Jaha’s voice cut through the chatter, her tone brokering no argument. Din sniffled and turned his head a little to peek without separating from Serim’s chest. Ramik was huddled up in a ball on the ground, Jaha gently lifting him without touching his healing arm. “Ramik, Ramik, you’re safe. It’s okay.”

Din tuned it all out, wheezing against Serim’s chest. He vaguely heard Jaha speaking, her tone calm. There was a strange squeak and confused noise he was vaguely aware of, and then that strange male voice again.

Serim pulled Din’s head back lightly. “Open your mouth, ad’ika.”

Din obeyed because he’d been conditioned his whole life to obey grown ups. Something was dropped in his mouth and started melting on his tongue, incredibly sweet. He blinked, so startled by it that he forgot his panic. He sucked on the hard sweet thing, suddenly aware his mouth was dry, but the sugary… whatever caused his mouth to moisten again as he rolled it over his tongue.

“There you are,” said the unfamiliar voice again. Din looked at the strange man, who was wearing clothing, not armor. His expression seemed kind, though his eyes were kind of spooky; they seemed to glow in the low light cast past Mandalore. Din blinked at him, then looked up at Serim.

“Alright?” The warrior asked Din, voice incredibly gentle behind his T-visor. Din nodded and snuggled close, feeling tired and confused, but the roiling panic had faded away, leaving behind a muzzy soreness behind his eyes and crawling up and under the inside of his skull. Serim looked at the strange man, head tilting. “What did you give him?”

“Just a sugar candy. It’s a sudden positive stimulus, it can redirect the brain from a panic attack,” The man shrugged, stepping back. Din watched him go and stand by the hovercart where Ramik was seated in Jaha’s lap. “Plus it causes saliva production, and you can’t be in fight or flight mode and salivating at the same time.”

“Strange,” Serim mused, but he didn’t comment further, adjusting Din in his arms. “How about you and I ride the back of the cart with Ramik and Jaha, hmm?”

Din nodded, burying his face against his Buir’s chest, feeling exhausted. He hadn’t slept the entire time on the ship, but this was different; before he’d been sleepy, now, his body ached with need to rest, though tension still thrummed through him. He saw the strange-eyed man return to the cart, setting up the rest of Ramik’s new family to sit closer to the front. He spoke at the droid too, but when Din turned to look at it, Serim shifted so Din couldn’t see it.

“We’ll work on making droids less scary another day,” he murmured. “Don’t worry though, all that droid does is drive the cart and play movies for the Kykal family.”

Din made a small noise to indicate he understood, and leaned against Serim’s chest, feeling foolish. He knew what an astromech was. Everyone did. They were all over the place, no threat to anybody. He hid against Serim’s armor for a little while, but swift and sudden daylight had him lifting his head in confusion. The sky was blue with a few clouds, and Mandalore had turned into a great shadow in the sky. Din looked around and could see the planet’s shadow retreating slowly across the landscape. It was incredible.

He looked around, seeing Ramik in Jaha’s lap beside them, the other boy staring around with the same wonder Din felt. The cart was hovering through a grassy field, and Din watched as Flowers in shades of yellow to red opened swiftly from curled sprouts. He made an awestruck sound, pointing at a particularly beautiful red one. “It’s moving!”

“Those _Sarad’redalur_ close when they aren’t getting enough sunlight,” Serim explained. “And curl up. Now that the Planet’s out of the way they open up quickly and turn their faces to the sun. That’s why they’re called ‘dancing flowers.’”

“They’re pretty!” Ramik said, and Din had to agree.

Din looked around, finding Tero sitting beside them at the corner of the cart, and he smiled at her shyly. His new Gramma ruffled his hair affectionately. Someone crawled over from the front of the cart and he looked around to see two of the kids from before coming to sit with Ramik and Jaha. The bigger one was wearing a Mandalorian helmet, but the smaller wore only her clothing. Her skin was very dark, but her eyes were an even stranger color than Serim’s! They were silver-white. The bigger pulled off his helmet, revealing skin just as dark and eyes just as pale as his sister.

There could be no doubt that these new siblings of Ramik’s were related to each other by birth. He looked around, seeing one more kid, who had to be part of Ramik’s new family. She was paler than these other two, but she was facing forward and wearing a helmet, so Din couldn’t see her features. Seeing him looking, the older sibling grinned at him.

“Hi! I’m Korm’rk.”

Din nodded, hunching his shoulders up a little. The other boy offered his hand to Din, who hesitantly reach out to clasp their arms together. Then the little girl who looked like him grabbed at his arm when Korm-ark released it.

“I’m Haali!”

Din nodded again, trying to hide against Serim’s chest again, but his Finder adjusted his grip, petting Din’s head, and he realized that he was expected to at least greet them. “I’m Din.”

“Ramik’s my new big brother,” Haali told Din self-importantly, pointing at the other boy who’d come to Concordia on the ship with Din. “Korm’rk’s my old big brother. And Bes’ma’s my big sister.”

Din followed Haali’s gesture to glance at the other kid in the front of the wagon. She turned to look at them, but kept her helmet on. Din chewed his lip, gripping at Serim’s chestplate, wanting to be left alone, but the other kids didn’t seem to notice.

“You guys came from the same town, right?” Asked Korm’rk of Ramik, who nodded quietly. Din glanced up at the other kids’ mom, and it seemed like Jaha was paying attention to the conversation. It made him feel better. “Are you friends?”

Confusion rose in Din at that, and he saw on Ramik’s face that he felt similarly.

“No… we met on the ship,” Ramik said. Din noticed that his eyes were rimmed with red.

“Oh, well. You’re still friends from the same First Home. That’s special,” Korm’rk informed them seriously. Din blinked at him, not having the mental energy to disagree with the statement. He just nodded agreeably.

“What ‘bout you two? You look the same,” Din said to Korm’rk. “Are you from the same place?”

Korm’rk start snickering while Haali giggled. “Yeah! We’re from Ja-buir!”

Din blinked in confusion. Korm’rk opened his mouth. “See when Koo-Buir and-”

Jaha reach over and put her hand over her son’s mouth. “Cyar’ika, you don’t need to explain how babies are made to every person you meet just because you know. You can tell Din that you’re both Creedborn.”

She looked at Din, inclining her head. “They were both born to this family, they’re not foundlings. I’m their mother, and Koona is their father.”

Din glanced back at the man whose eyes had weirded him out in the dark. Koona glanced back and smiled. In the light, Din realized that his eyes were the same color as those of his children, and he wondered if Korm’rk and Haali’s eyes would glow in the dark too. But he was a bit paler than both children, though they both looked a bit like him.

It occured to Din that they probably looked a bit like Jaha too, but he didn’t know what she looked like. He looked up at Serim, who ruffled his hair, then back at Jaha. “What about… Bee-sma?”

“Bes’ma’s a foundling! But also Korm’rk’s twin!” Haali informed him. There were chuckles out of all the adults, and Din was glad to see that Ramik looked just as confused as he felt. Jaha murmured to Ramik, and he nodded, wiggling free of her lap to sit with his new siblings. Korm’rk took Ramik’s bad arm and gently pressed at it with his fingers, asking if it hurt. Bes’ma came to play with them, but her helmet stayed on.

Din looked up at Serim, then at Tero, confused. “Why’s she his twin _and_ a foundling?” He asked in a whisper. Serim chuckled.

“I don’t know.”

“She was Found as a newborn baby, and Jaha was nursing Korm’rk who was a newborn at the time and adopted her out of the medical incubator to nurse her,” Tero said to Din. “They’ve been siblings since they were infants, and they’re only a few days apart in age. I suppose it’s easiest to celebrate their birthdays together, and siblings like that often share a very strong bond.”

“Oh,” Din said, not understanding every word, but the concept was clear to him. Serim hummed in understanding.

“Ahh, I see.”

He said something in the Mandalorian language that got a laugh out of the other adult Mandalorians. The three Kykal children who understood the language looked up, Haali confused, and Korm’rk blinking. Jaha said something to Serim, who nodded and looked down at Din, tilting his head in what Din had learned was a smile. “Vore entye, Jaha.”

“That means ‘thank you,’ right?” Din asked his Finder. Serim nodded, and Din grinned, proud of himself.

“You’re right. That’s good,” Serim said. Din beamed, very proud of himself. Feeling comforted, he crawled out of the Mandalorian’s lap to investigate what game Korm’rk was making up.

* * *

The cart ride wasn’t very long, and it seemed shorter while Din was getting the best medical treatment a four-year-old could provide. The quiet snickers out of the adults as Haali investigated his head for bumps or fractures were slightly patronizing, but since it wasn’t aimed at Din, he didn’t mind it. 

Ramik had to suffer the same investigation, Korm’rk talking his little sister through the procedure with self-importance. Din went along with it because it was funny, but also kind of interesting; he vaguely recalled his mom touching his head sorta like that after he’d fallen once. At the time he’d been comforted by it and thought little else, but now he was learning that there was a reason for it. Jaha mildly corrected anything that Korm’rk got wrong, though the boy would pout whenever that happened.

When the cart jostled to a halt at what appeared to be an old mine, the Kykal children, but for Ramik, all scrambled off the cart, cheering, shouting “thank you Geetoo!” at the astromech at the front. Din winced uneasily at the reminder of the droid’s presence, and noticed Ramik looking similarly ill at ease.

“Go take the cart around and stay in the shed tonight,” Ramik’s new father could be heard speaking. “We’ll introduce you two later when he’s had time to settle in.”

The droid chirped once as Serim gathered up his things from the cart, Din leaning up on Tero’s leg opposite the little robot. Once he had all his things, Serim thanked Koona for letting them ride along.

“No trouble,” Koona said with a smile, looking down at Din, who peered at him curiously. Haali grabbed Ramik’s hand, chattering happily, and the boy grinned, letting himself be pulled along by his new little sister towards the mine entrance. Din watched them go, startling as the cart started hovering away. He looked up into the daylight, gazing at the golden crescent of Mandalore hanging above. Tero led him towards a door that was embedded in a stone wall, and he wondered if it’d even open; it seemed so old and rusted.

Tero tapped on it and it slid open noiselessly. Curious, Din stepped in to find a well-lit hallway that was tidy and clean, despite being hewn from rock. His fingers slipped out of Tero’s hand as he walked over to a patch of different-colored stone, wanting to touch it. It was cool to the touch, a faint crystalline structure visible as he traced the swirls of color. He ran his hands along it, finding spots of shiny white and rust red.

The old door clunked softly as it shut, and Din looked up to see Serim and Tero watching him. He blushed and ducked his head, realizing they were waiting for him. Tero made a gentle sound, holding out her armored hand to him. After a brief hesitation, he took it and asked something he’d been wondering. “Why doesn’t Ramik’s dad have a helmet or armor?”

“Ah, he’s _Mando’ad neverd_ ,” Serim said, tone a bit flat. “He’s not a warrior, though he believes in the warrior culture. He’s not a Mandalorian, but he is Mandalorian.”

Din looked up at his Finder, confused. Serim chuckled. “It’ll make more sense as you grow up. But to be Mandalorian is to be part of the culture, to know it, speak the language and believe the tenants. To be _-A-_ Mandalorian, you are a warrior. Koona follows the Resol’nare, the six actions of Mandalorian culture, but he isn’t sworn to the warrior’s Creed.”

“So he can’t fight?” Din asked, blinking.

“I’m sure he can, if he felt the need. He’d have been raised learning some combat,” Serim shrugged, letting Tero take the lead again as she walked down the well-lit tunnels. There were side halls that led to what seemed to be big spaces, Din noticed, and he wanted to explore them. “But he lacks some quality that makes him a true Mandalorian.”

“Perhaps a better way of phrasing it, ad,” Tero speaks, voice a mild censure, “Is that not all can or want to be warriors. To wear the armor and follow the Creed is a personal choice. Not all Mandalorian children become Mando’verda, even if their parents are warriors, and sometimes the children of civilians become warriors.”

“How do they learn to be warriors?” Din wondered to himself. Tero chuckled, pulling him a little closer and stroking his cheek with her other hand. He blushed at the contact.

“They ask. There are schools for those who wish to become warriors, and even the civilians know how to do some fighting. Or they did… the Pacifists have prevented those lessons from continuing on the homeworld.”

Serim scoffed disdainfully at that, causing Din to glance back at him uncomfortably. Tero cleared her throat and started talking to Din.

“Traditionally Mandalorian civilians are called Mando’vhett; Farmers of Mandalore, while we warriors are Mando’verda; Soldiers of Mandalore. Our culture has strong roots of living off the land in farming, as well as the fighting side of things,” she explained. “But some farmers can be warriors too. You will learn all about it during your schooling.”

“Okay!” Din beamed up at her. He liked how the Mandalorians usually answered his questions and tried to explain so he understood. Sometimes his parents or other grown-ups would have answered such questions with _‘because I said so,’_ which he knew wasn’t the real answer.

* * *

It was most peculiar to Din when they came to a grand hall, wide across as a street, with an arched ceiling. Din looked around with interest, seeing doors embedded in the walls at large intervals. There were symbols carved or painted into the stone floor, walls, and ceiling, and he wanted to know what they meant. 

“Do you like it?” Tero asked with a chuckle. Din looked up at her and nodded, eyes wide. “This is our neighborhood. When you get more familiar with the tunnels you’ll be able to find your way around them easily.”

“Okay,” Din said as Tero led him to one of the doors. She tapped in a code, and the door slid open. Tero released his hand and gestured for him to enter. He stepped into the small hallway and turned the first corner to find himself in a house. He blinked, taking in a living room with carpet and couch. The walls were decorated with art and weapons, and there were a couple other hallways and a half-wall that seemed to have a kitchen on the other side of it. There was noises from the kitchen that suggested someone was in there. He looked around, pondering the contrast between what had seemed to be an old mine and this cosy home hidden within.

A light thump had him look around to see Serim had placed his bundle of possessions on the ground, and was detaching his jetpack. Tero walked past her son and removed her helmet, setting it on a small table beside the couch. Din looked at his new Grandma’s face for the first time as she turned to smile at him warmly.

“Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ba’buir - grandparent  
> Vore entye - Formal thank you  
> Mando’ad neverd - Mandalorian civilian (Author concept) - One who is not sworn to the creed and does not wear the helmet or armor. They support their tribes in different ways. Most do have some fighting talent, considering their upbringing. Some have Mandalorian-style armor, but almost never anything made of beskar.
> 
> If any part of this chapter makes you go “hmm… that’s a little iffy,” please let me know.  
> Because there’s a couple things that I’m hoping will make people go “Hmm.” and I'd like to know if I suceeded.


	8. Homestead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to make that adoption official

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe, to comment on the iffiness I was wondering if some people might feel about the previous chapter, I have to share a brief conversation that was had on Discord with a friend. If you haven't read Primarybufferpanel's Din/Yala (Female OC) Fics, you should def give them a shot.
> 
> Primarybufferpanel: looks a lot like they're abducting kids to replenish their numbers.  
> MissTeaVee: Not like anyone’s gonna miss Orphans from a war zone.
> 
> Buir: parent  
> Ba’buir: Grandparent  
> Gai Bal Manda: Name and soul (The name of the Mandalorian adoption vow)  
> Ni kar’tayli gai sa’ad: I know your name as that of my child. (Adoption vow.)  
> Cyare: darling

Serim stepped up behind Din and put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Din looked up at his finder and smiled. Serim’s eyes scrunched up as he returned the expression, gaze warm. Then Din looked back at Tero, and the Man who’d come out of the kitchen, wearing long grey pants and a pale red shirt. They looked… well, they sort of looked like if you mixed them together, you’d get Serim.

They were Serim’s mom and dad, so that was sensible, really. He studied them because they were studying him, and he knew that it was important to recognize family. They were his family now; them and the solid, comforting figure at his back, who had taken him away from his worst nightmare.

Tero’s eyes were the same shade of blue that Serim must’ve inherited from her. Her skin was pale and lightly freckled despite her age. There was a certain hardness under her warmth that Din was too young to understand. Her hair was silver, shot through with streaks of brown. Ragiz, Serim’s dad, was a shade darker than Din with eyes a familiar grey. When he smiled, the lines of his face matched up perfectly with the creases that formed in his cheeks, making his smile seem even wider.

Din liked them both on instinct. If he’d been lost back home and saw them, he wouldn’t have been at all nervous to go up to them and ask for help.

Tero was still in her armor, of course, her helmet resting on the little table by the couch, but Ragiz was dressed lightly, and Din didn’t think that he could put armor on over those clothes. He blinked as Ragiz stepped in closer and carefully knelt in front of him.

“So, what do you think of Concordia so far?”

Din leaned back against Serim for comfort, but answered Ragiz promptly. “It’s pretty. The sunrise was really fast!”

Ragiz chuckled. “There’s all sorts of different sunrises on a moon, some are slower, but they’re all gorgeous. You’ll see plenty more in your life.”

The boy nodded, fumbling with the sleeve of his tunic. Ragiz smiled, gently touching Din’s chin so they made eye contact.

“I know everything’s new and scary right now, but you’ll get used to us, I promise,” the older man told him. Din blinked and nodded his understanding. Ragiz offered Din his hand, and the boy took it, putting his other hand on Ragiz’s chest the way Tero had guided him to do to her. Ragiz chuckled, leaning forward and gently touching his forehead to Din’s before standing up, still holding the boy’s hand. “I’ll take you to your bedroom and show you where to find anything you need while your _buir_ puts his things away.”

“Okay,” Din answered. Serim’s hands released his shoulder, and Din glanced back, before turning his attention to Ragiz. Tero smiled at him and patted his head as they went past.

“I’ll guard your cooking to make sure it doesn’t burn, cyare,” she said to Ragiz. Din blinked at them, then glanced back at Serim again. The warrior was sorting through the bundle of items he’d carried all the way to the home. Ragiz’s hand gave Din’s a reassuring squeeze, but he didn’t try to pull the boy along, letting Din dither.

“Serim’s room is just across the hall from yours, he’ll be right there if you need him.”

Din looked up at Ragiz, who smiled at him with warmth and a tinge of sadness and sympathy glittering in his eyes. He nodded shyly up at the older man while sleepily rubbing an eye, stepping closer to show he was ready to go to his room. “Okay.”

“That’s a lad,” Ragiz said, taking him down the hall. He pointed at one door. “There’s the refresher- the bathroom.”

“Okay,” Din glanced at the door, taking note.

“There’s Te-ba’s and my room.”

“Te-ba?” Din asked, blinking in confusion.

“Tero, your Grandmother,” Ragiz explained. _“Ba’buir_ means grandpa or grandma. So you can call her Te-ba, and me Ra-ba.”

Din nodded his understanding as Ragiz paused at a door a little further down the hall, opening it. He blinked, looking around it. It was sparse and neat, but not empty. There was a light on the ceiling that basked everything with a warm brightness, and Din took in the small bed against the wall with a puffy-looking grey blanket and bright blue pillows. There was a large box on the floor that reminded Din of his old toy cabinet, a desk and chair, and a dresser.

Din wondered why there was no windows, and then remembered they were underground. He’d forgotten, somehow. While the walls of the living room had been bare stone, the walls in here were a smooth, uniform shade of gentle blue. He looked down and saw that the floor was bare stone, and released Ragiz’ hand so he could crouch down to touch it.

There was an indulgent chuckle from his new Grandpa. “I know it’s probably not what you’re used to. But it stays clean.”

He led Din to the bed and set him on the mattress with his feet hanging off the edge so he could help Din take off his boots. Din felt a flash of guilt.

“I can take them off, I’m sorry.”

A chuckle. “That’s alright, just don’t wear them to bed.”

Din nodded, unlacing the knots in his footwear, then kicking the boots off. He looked up at the roof again, seeing the texture of rock, if not the color, under thick white paint. He glanced back to Ragiz, finding that the man was kneeling in front of him.

“I know everything’s hard right now,” he was told with a warm voice. “I was a little younger than you when I was Found and brought here. There’s a lot to learn, and you’re still adjusting. It’s okay if things sometimes feel wrong and you want to talk about it, okay?”

The boy blinked in surprise, looking at his new grandfather’s serious expression. Ragiz had been a Foundling too? Din nodded, returning the serious frown. Ragiz smiled, standing up.

“Good! Dinner will be very soon, I know you’re probably tired right now, you can have a nap if you want to-”

There was the sound of a door closing across the hall and Ragiz paused, glancing over his shoulder to smile at Serim, who had a folded bundle of red clothes under his arm. Din recognized his clothing that he’d been wearing when Serim found him and hopped off the bed, reaching for the bundle. 

“There, put it away neatly,” his Finder told him, handing Din the bundle. “We’ll work together on getting you more clothes and things so you have stuff you like, okay?”

Din nodded with a little smile, walking over to the dresser and putting his old clothes in it. Then he turned back to the door, only to see that Serim was already leaving the room. He watched the Mandalorian go across the hall into the other room, blinking. Serim hadn’t just walked out on him without saying anything like that before… He turned to Ragiz, who was still standing right where he’d been before Serim entered the room, and the older man shook his head with a chuckle.

“He’s trying to get unpacked before dinner. If you need him, that’s his bedroom and he’ll be there.”

“Okay,” Din answered, feeling better. It wasn’t like Serim had left the house or anything, he was just right there. Maybe that was why he hadn’t felt the need to announce he was leaving like he usually did.

“Like he said though, we’ll go out and get more things to fill your room that you like,” Ragiz said to Din with a smile. “And… how old are you?”

“I’m eight,” Din informed the older man seriously. Ragiz nodded.

“Well, then you’re old enough to start learning knifework and gun safety, so you’ll probably get a few of those before too long too.”

“Oh,” Din blinked. He recalled being told never to touch kitchen knives with mom and dad, but then… Mandalorians were different. “Okay.”

“I’m going back to the kitchen before Te-ba decides to season my casserole for me,” Ragiz said with a chuckle, speaking a bit louder than needed.

“Too late!” answered Tero cheerfully from down the hall. Ragiz laughed.

“Ah, well. Do you want to come with me to the kitchen or stay in your room and have a rest before dinner?”

Din looked around the room, then at Ragiz before stepping a little closer and grabbing the older man’s hand. He was tired and wanted to sleep, but even more than that, he didn’t want to be left alone, even if Serim was right across the hall. Ragiz gently closed his fingers around Din’s hand and nodded.

“Alright, let’s go make dinner.”

* * *

Din knew how to set a table, it had been one of his chores with his mom and dad. So when Ragiz pulled four plates out of a cupboard and set them on the counter, he grabbed them and went to set them out on the table, which had four chairs around it, but looked like it could fit two more on each of the longer sides. Ragiz turned from the stove to look at him with a warm expression.

“Thank you, Din,” He said, pointing at another cupboard, and then a drawer. “The drinking cups are there, and the cutlery is in there.”

“Okay,” Din went to get the cups, happy to be useful. He paused briefly, putting a hand to his head as a wave of tiredness overtook him, but it passed quickly. It felt a bit like how he had after the droid had scared him, but not as bad. He wanted to sleep, but he knew that he had to have dinner first; he was starving as much as exhausted. He put out the cups and then the forks and knives, arranging them like he’d been taught. There was… something missing…

_Napkins!_

He went back to where Ragiz was stirring a pot and shuffled his feet. “Um…”

“Yes?”

“There’s no napkins.”

“Ah! They’re over there,” Ragiz pointed at a roll of soft paper. “We use the tissue napkins usually.”

Din nodded, going over and figuring out how to tear off the right size of napkin, bringing them to the table as well. He looked over the set table, pleased with himself, then scrubbed at his eyes tiredly. He glanced at Ragiz, then the table, then to the open entryway that led out to the living room. He hesitated a moment, then went out into the living room. The floor around the couch was carpeted, and it felt nice on his bare feet. He shifted his weight a moment before climbing up on the couch and tucking his legs up. He could wait here until Ragiz asked for help again, that’d be good.

He blinked leaning on his arm, tired, but he wasn’t going to fall asleep, that’d wait until after dinner-

* * *

Someone was gently squeezing his shoulder and he startled awake. Serim gave him a little smile, and Din realized that it smelled delicious in the home, more than it had a moment ago. Wait, how had Serim suddenly appeared in front of him!?

He was curled up on the couch and there was a small blanket over him. He’d fallen asleep.

Embarrassed, Din sat up and rubbed his eyes, still tired, but feeling a little better. “M’sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Serim asked, straightening up now that Din was sitting up. Din shook his head at the question, stretching his legs out.

“N’thing…”

“Hm, well, it’s dinner time,” Serim told him. Din blinked and nodded, standing up and grabbing Serim’s hand. Serim smiled at him, combing his fingers through Din’s hair. Din noticed he was wearing a simple grey tunic and black pants instead of his usual armor. “Ra-buir told me that you helped set up for dinner. Thank you.”

Din blushed. “Was part of my chores…”

“Oh really?” Serim said, stepping back as Din stood up, walking with him to the kitchen and the dining table within. “Well, it’d be helpful if you kept it as a chore here.”

“Hmm, I think our son’s realized he can fob off a couple of his chores, _cyare_ ,” said Tero from where she was sitting at the dinner table. Serim chuckled at that.

“Never, buir!” he glanced at Din conspiratorially. “Right?”

Din giggled despite himself. “I don’t mind!”

“See,” Serim said, pointing at Din. “He can set the table.”

“Very well, but you still have to do the dishes,” said Ragiz as he set a pot on the table. Din blinked at them, wondering why Serim as a grown-up still had chores. Then, seeing the playful smiles, realized that the grown ups were joking around. He giggled, looking at the table and hesitating about where to sit. Serim made it easy for him, sitting at one end and pulling out the chair to his left, patting it while looking at Din. Obediently, the boy sat down, watching as Ragiz brought a couple serving dishes to the table. Tero was seated across the narrower section of the table from Din, and she folded her arms in front of her, blinking like a contented cat. Din noticed she was wearing simple clothes now too, instead of her armor, and wondered where it’d all gone.

He was distracted as a pitcher of water was set down on the table near the food, and then a tall glass of what looked to be some kind of milk put beside his empty drinking cup. He looked up in confusion as Ragiz moved his place setting and chair around the table to be on the same side as Din, closer to the rest of the family than the far end of the table. He blinked, looking down at his plate, then back up. Serim was helping himself to meat and vegetables from one of the dishes, and then he picked up another container and ladled some kind of pink and creamy sauce on top of the food.

Then Serim held up the bowl of meat and vegetables to Din. “Take as much as you want, then you can put some sauce on them. It’s spicy, so you might want to put a little on the side and dip things in it so you can decide how much heat you taste.”

“Okay, thank you,” Din said, taking the serving spoon and scooping food onto his plate.

“Careful, if you put it on your plate, you have to finish it,” Tero told him. “But if you don’t put enough on your plate you can add more to it later.”

Din paused, looking at his plate, then hesitantly putting the serving spoon back in it. Serim set the main portion aside and offered Din the sauce. Din carefully ladled a little on the side of his plate, then looked up at the Mandalorian, then at the glass full of milk that had been put in front of him.

“If the food’s still too spicy, drink the milk to make the heat go away,” Serim told him, passing the dish to his father and sitting down. “This smells incredible, Buir, Thank you.”

Sniffing his food cautiously, Din decided that it did smell pretty good, though the sauce prickled his nose. He waited for everyone to have some food before picking up his fork and spearing a bit of vegetable. Recalling his experience in the dining hall on the ship, he carefully touched the smallest corner of his forkful to the sauce and brought the whole thing to his mouth.

It tingled a little, but otherwise, it was very plain. His next bite, he was a bit bolder, and though it made his mouth warm, he found that he could tolerate the heat as long as he minded how much sauce was on his mouthful. He focused on eating for a bit, half listening to the adults discuss the battles Serim had attended on his trip.

Then he heard Serim say the name of his home town, and he looked up. Noticing his attention, Serim trailed off and smiled at Din. “-and looked around, one of the droids was opening the cellar and I saw its weapons activate. Knew I’d better stop it.”

Din looked down at his food. Serim’s hand came to rest on his shoulder and he leaned into the comforting touch. It took him a moment to realize that the Mandalorian was saying his name, and he looked back up. “Yeah?”

“There’s something I need to do that I haven’t yet,” Serim told him. “I haven’t adopted you formally. You’re not officially my son until I do, but I wanted to do it with my… _our_ family as witnesses.”

“Oh…” Din looked at Tero, then Ragiz, who had both set their forks aside and were watching with smiles. He looked back at Serim, fumbling with his sleeve. “Uhm… how do you do it?”

Serim turned in his chair to face Din, gently cupping his cheek with a hand. “There is a vow of adoption. Later, you’ll be recorded in the registrars of Mandalore, named and numbered among us, but to properly make you clan- family, all we need is your willingness, and the vow.”

“Okay,” Din said, looking up at Serim. The Mandalorian smiled and got off his chair, holding his arms out to Din. Din set down his cutlery and let Serim pick him up. Serim shifted him to one arm with ease, and Din leaned up against his shoulder, looking up at the Mandalorian and thinking about how different it felt when Serim wasn’t wearing his armor. Serim looked down at him with soft eyes.

“Din Dja-” he paused, glancing at his parents, then back at Din. “No, it’s the vow first, isn’t it?”

Din shrugged as Tero and Ragiz chuckled. Serim gently put his forehead to Din’s, and nuzzled their noses together. Din blushed and hid under the Mandalorian’s chin.

“In my defense, I’ve never done this before,” Serim murmured with a fond noise.

“Vow first, at least, that’s how my _buir_ did it,” Ragiz said, still chuckling. Din looked up at him and Tero, then back to Serim, who smiled.

“Alright,” He brushed his fingers over Din’s cheek. “ _Ni kar’tayli gai sa’ad,_ Din Djarin. I know your name as that of my child. Now and forever, I will be your father, I will protect you, raise you, and train you to be Mandalorian. No matter what life you follow, you will be mine to cherish. When you are old enough to no longer need me, you will still be my child.”

Din blinked, feeling wetness building around his eyes. He understood the words, but it was just so much. He looked at Serim, wanting to tell him that he believed him, that he wanted everything Serim said, but he couldn’t find the right words. More than that, no matter what, he wanted to still be his mom and dad’s child too. He couldn’t say it though, so he simply hid under Serim’s chin again and mumbled. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

* * *

Dinner after his official adoption was a quiet affair. Din was slowly falling asleep in his seat, even as he nibbled on the last little bit of his food. He’d decided that the spicy sauce was alright, as long as he could control how much he ate at a time. He swayed a little in his seat, but he wasn’t quite ready to go to bed yet. He wanted to stay up, listen to his _buir_ (Officially now!) and his new grandparents talk. He swayed too far to the left and ended up squished to Ragiz’s side. He shook his head to wake up as the Mandalorian chuckled, patting his shoulder.

“Tired?”

“Mhmm…”

“It’s been a big day. You can go to sleep if you want to.”

Din shook his head.

“Well, how about dessert and then bed, hmm? We don’t usually have _Uj’alayi_ cake in the house, and your Te-ba made it just for you.”

“Cake?” Din said, perking up at that. He did like cake. Everyone liked cake.

“I’ll go get it,” Said Tero, standing up and taking the used dishes with her. Ragiz took Din’s empty plate and stacked it with his own and Serim’s, and Serim took the stack over to the sink with his mother. Din rubbed his heavy eyes and yawned, struggling to stay awake. A plate was put in front of him with a fork and he looked at the strange cake that’d be put in front of him.

It was narrower than he’d thought, and didn’t seem to have any icing, though some kind of syrup pooled out of it. It looked thick and heavy. Curiously he poked it with his fork, then took a little to try. It was sweet! It wasn’t the same flavor as he’d have expected; very nutty and rich, but he liked it. He looked up as Serim and Tero both sat down again, each with their own little cake. He grinned around at everyone, seeing that Ragiz also had his own slice. Everyone was eating theirs, so he happily devoured his portion.

He set his fork down and folded his hands on the table, keeping his elbows off like his mom had taught him before. The adults finished their portions more slowly, and Din lost track of the conversation, until his shoulder was nudged. He startled awake, looking around.

“Ready for bed now?” Serim asked. Din nodded and made to stand up, but he was scooped up into his Finder-his _father’s_ arms. He let out a startled noise, but clung close to the man’s neck. While his parents had still carried him sometimes- and they had, running from the droids- it seemed like Serim could carry him a lot more, and a lot easier.

“You’re strong,” Din mumbled against Serim’s shoulder. “Dad said I was getting too heavy to carry soon.”

Serim chuckled, carrying Din down the hall. “Well, you weigh less than my armor, you know. But most people don’t have the same trained strength as a Mandalorian.”

“Oh,” Din yawned as he was put down, then realized he wasn’t in his bedroom. He was in the bathroom. He turned to give Serim a confused look as his buir opened a cupboard. Then he was handed a toothbrush. “Uhm?”

“You didn’t get one before, did you?” Serim asked with a chuckle. “It’s been a few days, and you just ate cake, so brush your teeth.”

“Oh, okay.” Din looked at the brand new toothbrush, then took the toothpaste offered and got to work as Serim stepped to the side and did the same for himself. Once he was done, he walked towards his new bedroom, Serim following behind him. Din clambered into his new bed, discovering a soft blanket hidden under the thicker duvet and let out a content sigh, nestling in.

Serim patted his head once and leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. “ _Nuhoy_. Sleep. I’m just across the hall.”

“Kay…” Din blinked tiredly, watching as Serim walked to the door, hand going to the light switch. “Se- um... Buir?”

“Yes?” Serim paused, expression soft at the title given to him.

“You’re gonna teach me to be a Mandalorian like you said, right?”

“Yes, I will,” Serim promised, turning out the light. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buir: parent  
> Ba’buir: Grandparent  
> Gai Bal Manda: Name and soul (The name of the Mandalorian adoption vow)  
> Ni kar’tayli gai sa’ad: I know your name as that of my child. (Adoption vow.)  
> Cyare: darling
> 
> Thank you to everyone who continues to read this.
> 
> Right now we have Din who is still freshly traumatised and unsure of his place in this new family. So stated, I have... a few thought and ideas about how that might change as he settles in. I actually removed a scene to adjust for later on in the story where he gets angry. So. Look forward to that.


	9. Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve gone back and made a couple small adjustments to the story. Biggest one is that I’ve deaged Paz a little for reasons of wanting this story to match my some of personal headcanons/ideas a little better.  
> S-T polymer is “Stygian-Triprismatic polymer” which according to wookiepedia is commonly used in Mandalorian armor, alongside Alum, Duraplast, durasteel, and of course, Beskar, which is most effective but very rare.
> 
> As we all know, Death Watch’s Version Of History Is Totally Unbiased. So stated, some of this reflects some of my thoughts on how “pacifists” could win a war against warriors. Nothing good.
> 
> Behot: herb used in beverages, mildly antiseptic and stimulating  
> Vor’e: thanks

Din startled awake, struggling free of his blankets and falling to the floor with a yelp. He flailed a bit until he realized where he was: his new bedroom. He took deep breaths, not sure what had woken him, but his heart was racing and his veins pulsed with fear.

He swallowed, looking around, relieved that his bedroom wasn’t pitch black, even now. There was a dim red light in an upper corner that bathed everything in an unreal glow, but with his eyes having adjusted to being behind their lids for so long, he could see clearly enough to move about.

He hugged himself, clambering back into bed and pulling his blankets around his body, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted his mom to cuddle him and tell him it was okay, he wanted his dad sleepily pulling Din up between both parents so he could sleep between them, safe from everything bad. He glanced at the bedroom door. Serim’s room was right across the hall… he’d slept with his Finder once already, pressed against uncomfortable armor; he’d felt so safe that the hard angles hadn’t mattered.

Serim wouldn’t... mind, would he?

Hesitantly, Din padded on bare feet to his bedroom door and opened it. The Ghyrs home was bathed with a slightly brighter red glow than Din’s bedroom, and he fidgeted nervously for a few moments before crossing to Serim’s door and cracking it open. He peeked in.

Pitch black. He opened the door a little more, barely able to make out a bed. There were soft snores coming from it, and he dithered a little longer before daring to speak.

“S-Serim?”

No answer, though the snores quietened a little. Din swallowed, creeping a bit closer to the bed and putting his hands on the mattress. He could just see the outline of his adoptive father in the bed, and he reached out nervously to touch him.

Serim jolted, swinging over and upright in and instant. Din let out a frightened yelp as a hand suddenly clasped his shoulder. It immediately dropped away.

“What, what is it?” Serim asked a bit muzzily. Din hunched up, sure he was in trouble. Serim shook his head as if to fling water off and spoke again, this time more clearly. “Din? You okay?”

He relaxed minutely at that, shifting closer. “C-can I sleep with you again?”

A pause, and Din wondered if that wouldn’t be allowed now that he had his own bedroom. Then Serim let out a little noise that might’ve been a sigh and Din felt hands around his torso. “Sure, _Ad’ika_ , c’mere.”

Din didn’t give him a chance to change his mind, snuggling in close to his _buir_ under the blankets, pressing against Serim’s sleep clothes. It was different than armor, and Serim smelled differently now, like strong soaps and pine branches, instead of the battlefield. But the big arm that curled over him and held him close was comforting, and he hid against the Mandalorian’s chest, sniffling once. Serim combed fingers through his hair with sleepy clumsiness, settling back down again. Din could hear his breathing even out as he fell asleep again, and wondered why it was so different here compared to before: Serim had been still and quiet then; now, he shifted slightly in his sleep, snoring.

The boy tucked himself tightly to his new father’s chest and closed his eyes again, comforted by his presence.

* * *

* * *

_“Cyare,”_ It was a whisper that woke Tero, and she stretched, looking to see her husband standing beside the bed, a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye. _“Cyare,_ come look at our boys.”

“Boys, hmm?” She asked, pushing to her feet. The artificial day cycle was just starting, their room barely lit by the lamp that was simulating sunrise. Ragiz usually was the one up first; he slept lightly. Tero slipped her feet into the sandals she wore around the home, and followed Ragiz out into the hall, which he’d already turned up to daytime brightness.

The first thing she noticed once her eyes adjusted was that their new grandson’s bedroom door was cracked, and Serim’s wide open. Ragiz pointed into their son’s room, so she peeked in and smiled at what she saw. Serim was sleeping lightly in the rising light, a mop of dark hair just visible under his chin, the rest of the child hidden under Serim’s arm and blanket. She nodded to herself and pulled the door until it was almost closed, not wanting to shut it and wake Serim with the sound. He’d spent the last couple weeks at war; he could lie-in for a while if he wanted.

Besides, it was possible he hadn’t slept well since finding Din. Taking responsibility of a war orphan could be a trying thing, she knew. She’d never experienced it firsthand herself, but of course she knew many Mandalorians who’d been Foundlings, including her husband.

Speaking of, Ragiz was in the kitchen, putting away last night’s dishes that Serim had cleaned after putting Din to bed. Her husband’s happy expression reflected her own mood, and she went to make their morning _behot_ tea and swallow her daily prescription.

“About time he finally brought home a child,” she said, resting a hand on the counter and waiting on the water to boil.

“First child he rescued and it’s one he could keep,” Ragiz replied, putting away last night’s cookware. He let out a little sigh. “Din’s a winsome lad, but I’m sure he’ll have some issues once he’s settled in. There always are some with Foundlings.”

Tero nodded, pouring out two cups of boiling water and adding the teabags. She stirred the tea, looking at it. “He certainly has some difficulty with droids. He had a panic attack when he noticed the Kykal’s droid. Their new child reacted the same way.”

“Ah, hm. Well, suppose that’s not surprising,” Ragiz accepted the mug passed to him with a small ‘ _vor’e.’_ “We’ll work on that, and once he’s comfortable and starting his training with the classes, he’ll get over it. I got over my problems. It just takes time and patience on everyone’s part.”

Tero nodded agreeably, trusting her husband’s firsthand experience in the matter. She stepped close beside him and, companionably, they leaned on each other as they greeted the oncoming daybright hours.

* * *

* * *

Din was being crushed under rubble. He struggled and he cried for his dad, but he was looking down at him with a distraught expression, closing the door of the cellar. He caught a glimpse of mom and tried to beg her to not leave him, _stay!_ But he was too afraid to speak. He couldn’t see anything but light shining through the cellar doors, and then an explosion that rattled the small space, lifting the doors and dropping them again, and still he was helplessly crushed…

The cellar was ripped open and he was trapped under not only rubble, but the merciless optics of a droid. It droned something, lifting its arm to point at him. He tried to struggle, but it was aiming for him, there was nothing he could do and he tried to scream-

“Hey, hey, easy. Din, hey.”

Din flailed and fought, but his arms were pinned- he could do nothing-

“Din!”

He opened his eyes to Serim’s face and he looked up at the Mandalorian with a racing heart, fear slowly abating to confusion. He was curled up against Serim’s chest, under the Mandalorian’s arm, and Serim was holding his wrists with a firm grasp. Once Din was looking at him, he released his grip and sat up.

“You were flailing and mumbling in your sleep,” Serim told him gently. “I tried to wake you up and you hit me.”

His tone was affectionate, but Din hunched up in shame and pulled away. “M’sorry, I-”

“Hey hey, it’s alright,” Serim caught Din’s shoulder and pulled him close. Din resisted a moment, wanting space, but the offer of comfort was hard to refuse, and he cuddled in close to Serim’s chest. “You were dreaming. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I was in the cellar ‘gain, but I was stuck,” Din said quietly. Serim gave him a little squeeze, and Din stayed pressed in close until his heart settled. Finally, he sighed, pulling back from his adoptive father. Serim looked at him with a smile.

“Ready to face the day?”

Din nodded.

* * *

After breakfast, Din explored the house. He learned from the family that the strange red lights at night would brighten slowly to simulate a natural sunrise, and that the artificial night cycle was set to the same schedule as the real movements of the sun from Sundari, the current capital on Mandalore. There was the option to turn off the dull red light and sleep in pitch blackness like Serim, but Din decided that he liked being able to see if he woke up.

He explored every part of his new home, discovering that in Serim’s room, there was a rack on which all of the man’s armor hung, shaped vaguely like a person’s body, and a code-protected closet that hid the man’s weapons from view. Beside it, a more normal closet of clothing.

In Ragiz and Tero’s room, their armor was racked side by side, and Din took his time exploring Ragiz’s blue and black armor, fingers tracing over lines of paint. Caught in the act by indulgent adults, he asked what the colors meant, and learned that Ragiz and Tero painted theirs to their own liking. Serim’s markings were like those of a military uniform, denoting his squad and rank amongst the _Kyr’tsad_ , the Death Watch warriors who served the Mand’alor. For those who served directly under the order of their great chieftain needed to be seen as parts of the whole, and not easily identified if they so happened to be viewed by unfriendly eyes.

“You’ll be presented to him in a few days,” Serim told Din, expression showing just how pleased the idea made him. “All Foundlings and newborns are, briefly.”

“Oh,” Din blinked, thinking about that. “He must see a lot of kids.”

A chuckle from Serim, and he ruffled Din’s hair. “Well, that’s why the presentations are as a group after each mission, so he doesn’t have to spend too much time.”

“That makes sense,” Din said.

* * *

As promised, Din’s training started that day. But it wasn’t shooting or knives or anything like that; it was simple exercises that Din could do to build up his muscles. Serim explained, as Din learned to do situps, that for a while Din might feel like he was behind the other kids his age when he started his lessons with training groups. But the warrior assured Din that’d he’d catch up to those who’d been training longer as long as he had the drive to do it.

Din listened dutifully enough, though he found the exercises boring. Serim made him stop after counting out twenty situps and five push ups and told him it was good for day one. Din wondered if it actually was or if Serim was just taking pity on him; his arms had not been happy with the pushups at all.

“Whenever you have some extra energy, do a few of those exercises,” Serim told him. “They’ll help build good muscle.”

“‘Kay,” Din looked at his arms, almost expecting to see them thicker already. But they still seemed liked the same old noodles to him.

He had a shower, which got rid of the uncomfortable clammy feeling of sweat clinging to his skin and drank some water. His sweaty shirt had been tossed in the wash, leaving him with nothing but the clothes from home to wear. He put them on and pulled his hood up, petting the familiar fabric with one hand.

When he came out of his room, Tero commented on how lovely the color was and touched the patterns attached to the front of the clothes. Din blushed, but was happy that she liked it, especially since Serim had frowned a little when he’d first taken a look at Din. He was smiling now, though.

“Well,” Serim said. “You never got a medical checkup while we were at the temporary Covert, so we’re going to go get that done now and finalize your file in the Registrars.”

“Okay,” Din answered, heading to put on his boots. When he looked up again, Serim was wearing his own heavy boots, and was adjusting his belt, on which hung a blaster, knife and a few small objects Din didn’t recognize. Then Serim adjusted his brown tunic, and the bottom of it hung low enough to conceal the weapons. A wide belt around the Mandalorian’s waist with some kind of pocket completed the picture. Din saw Serim slip a pouch into the waistband’s pocket, and blinked curiously. Serim noticed him looking and smiled.

“My credits.”

“Oh.”

* * *

Leaving the house, Din followed after his _buir_ as Serim led him through the tunnels. His _Buir_ explained that the underground complex had once been a mine for Opals and beskar.

“Concordia and Mandalore both were blessed with rich resources,” he explained to Din. “But the government on Mandalore doesn’t want us mining anymore here, even with new technology that means we wouldn’t damage the natural environment the way it used to. But because Mandalore is nothing but sand, they don’t restrict themselves, so Concordia would be unable to financially support itself if we didn’t still mine in secret, not to mention Mandalorians taking jobs offworld to bring in credits.”

“Is it because they think there’s almost no one here?” Din asked, pausing when Serim did in front of a wall that shimmered depending on what angle you observed it from. Serim let out a low, thoughtful hum.

“Well, they do now,” he said finally. “But the rules were like that from the start, when they banished the warriors here. They called it letting us peacefully die out. As long as our people weren’t where they could see, they were happy to create circumstances that would slowly starve us all to death.”

Din paused in his admiration of the wall to look up at his _buir_ , shocked. “But… but they were in charge of everyone, that means they’re responsible for everyone, even people they don’t like, doesn’t it!?”

“Yes, but sometimes people in charge don’t like a certain part of their population. They want to get rid of them, or at the very least, make it so these others can’t protect themselves. They claimed to have exiled all the warriors, left our people to fight each other to death ‘as is their nature’,” Serim gestured air quotes with his fingers. “But whole families with children and elders were sent here, and if we died off, they could blame us for it instead of themselves. They think there’s only a small group of people left here, pacified now, on their side, and they’re happy about that. They don’t think about the fact that the false numbers we send them tell of the deaths of thousands.”

Din wrapped his arms around himself, leaning on Serim’s hip. “I don’t think that many people died back home, did they?”

“I don’t know the numbers,” Serim said gently. “But what the Kryze dynasty did, is still doing is still war, even if they pretend it’s not. They think they’re more civilized than those of us who settle our differences in person, and only go up against other warriors.”

Din considered that solemnly, still leaned up against the Mandalorian’s hip. “But Mandalorians aren’t starving to death, right?”

“No,” Serim said, looking down to Din. “We’re not. For a while things were difficult, you can ask your _ba’buir’e_ , they grew up in that time period. But nowadays we’re growing strong again. That’s why we can take in foundlings again. For a while we couldn’t, there wasn’t enough to provide what everyone would need.”

A little nod escaped the boy, then he turned his attention back to the strange wall and pointed at it, wanting to talk about something less scary. “Why is the wall shiny here?”

“Ah, there’s beskar ore in there,” Serim answered with a smile, leaning over to touch the stone wall. “I know there’s some talk of getting at it, but I suppose there’s not very much so it wouldn’t be worth the trouble of bringing mining equipment into what’s now a neighborhood.”

Din nodded his understanding, fingers tracing a particularly shiny spot. “This is what your armor’s made of?”

“Some of it. Beskar is rare and valuable, the Pacifists stole most of it from us,” Serim commented. “But my helmet is beskar, and my cuirass. The rest is S-T polymer. It works well.”

“Oh,” Din didn’t know what S-T polymer was, but he figured he’d learn eventually. He traced the stone wall, wondering if the rocks themselves were stronger than normal rocks, just the same as Mandalorian armor was stronger than normal armor.

When Serim took his hand to lead him further into the underground complex, Din went willingly.

* * *

“The medical center is at the deepest point, along with the bomb shelters and air recycling systems,” Serim explained as they took an elevator down a shaft. There were no walls to the cart, and the only light was within the elevator itself. Din watched the walls rush past, shivering at the movement of cold air. He decided to voice a thought that had been bothering him for some time.

“What if the power went out? It’d be too dark to see.”

“Ah, well,” Serim hums and nods. “Well, there’s lots of backup systems. So if the main power grid went out, you’d have to count thirty seconds then the backup grid would activate. If that was also down, there’s emergency generators that could power dim lights for a few day. If all that somehow failed, Mandalorians in armor could use their gear to see, and the rest of us…”

Serim paused to lift the edge of his tunic, showing Din his belt. He indicated a slim cylinder about as long as the man’s hand was wide. Din hadn’t noticed it before. “This is a penlight. It’s enough for me to see by if I needed it. I’ve never heard of all the power failing like that, though.”

Din nodded his understanding, glad to know he wouldn’t be trapped in the pitch black. The lift came to a stop and he stepped out to examine the stone room, wondering just how far under ground they were. How much stone was hiding him from the universe?

* * *

“Din! Hi!”

He looked up and grinned to see a familiar face: Ramik, his bandaged arm waving at Din. “Hello!”

The other boy was perched on the end of what looked to be some kind of big pipe sticking out beside a heavy door that was presently open wide enough to let someone enter. On the opposite side of the door was another pipe, and on it was one of the boy’s new siblings, Haali, and another child Din didn’t recognize. Din wondered why the pipes were sticking straight out of the wall like that, but didn’t ask; he had a more important question.

“What are you doing here? Are you getting… uhm… registered too?”

“I already am,” Ramik said cheerfully. “Koona- uh… Koo-buir did it with me after breakfast. But he’s working in the medcenter today and Haali said she’d show me around the tunnels and then Koo-buir said you were gonna be coming by today so I wanted to say hi again.”

“Well, hi! Again!” Din answered happily. Haali waved at him, rolling over sideways on the big pipe, catching herself and hanging by her crossed legs and one arm. Din laughed at the sight, and heard Serim do the same. He waved to the other kid, who looked kind of like a Twi’lek, except she had hair. She was carefully pushing herself to stand on the pipe. “I’m Din, who are you?”

“I’m Yabel,” she said brightly. “My _buir_ ’s working here today, too. So I’m guarding the door. No one gets by me unless I say they can!”

“Hi Yabel.”

Serim laughed, putting his hands on his hips. “Is that so? Well, Yabel, can I come through the doors with Din?”

Yabel carefully balanced her way to the end of the pipe, then paused, arms outstretched as she looked Serim up and down critically. “Yeah, you can.”

“Very kind of you, thank you,” Serim chuckled, walking through the door into the brightly lit space within. Din glanced at Ramik, who grinned cheerfully and waved.

“It doesn’t take very long,” Ramik said.

Din nodded, lingering a moment before Serim called for him to follow.

* * *

“Does the image look clear and easy to recognize?”

Din peered through the strange thing that had been strapped over his eyes and nodded. “It’s a hoversled.”

“Okay, good. Can you read Basic?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, read out all the letters for me, from top to bottom, left to right.”

Din read it out steadily, hesitating over the last two lines, and trying his best on them. There was a hum, and then the odd goggles were pulled off his head. Din blinked, looking up at Koona, who was doing his registration and medical checkup.

“Vision’s good, you don’t need any correction there.”

“Correction?” Din asked, wondering how discipline was supposed to improve his eyesight. Koona gestured at the medical equipment.

“Doctors can use special lasers to change someone’s eyes to help with vision if they need it. There’s other options too.”

“Oh,” Din blinked, glad he didn’t need that. He was sitting on a table in just his underwear, wrinkling his nose a little as Ramik’s new dad ran some kind of scan over his body. He could feel the beam, somehow, and he didn’t like it.

“I’m going to take a blood sample from your arm, okay Din? I want you to look at the wall and count to ten.”

Din pulled his hand away from the doctor, looking to see that he was holding a needle. He shook his head mutely at the idea. Koona let out a little sigh, smiling gently.

“I know, I promise it won’t hurt, okay? It’s so I can find out what vaccines you’ve had in your life, and which ones you should get. This way you need to get waaaay less shots, so it’s worth it.”

Din shook his head again, not liking the idea. Koona stood patiently beside him.

“Din, just let him do it and get it over with,” said Serim from the corner of the small room. Din twitched, glancing over to see his _buir_ watching with a patient expression. He winced uncomfortably, looking towards Koona, who blew out a long sigh.

“It’s alright to be nervous,” the doctor told him. “But I promise I won’t hurt you. The shots you’ll get after will be hyposprays. Have you ever had a hypospray vaccine before?”

“N-no?” Din said timidly.

“Well, they’re very cool, they give you the shot without a needle,” Koona informed him, handing Din a small cylinder with a button. “This is what it looks like.”

Din held it in the hand opposite the side Koona was standing on, looking over the strange item with a little frown. Koona swabbed Din’s arm with something cold, causing the boy to look at him.

“Look at your _buir_ , Din.”

Din hesitated again, flinching away from idea of a shot. He looked to Serim for help and the man visibly sighed, and Din flinched again, thinking his _buir_ was disappointed in him. He looked away, scrunching up his face and holding his arm towards the hated needle.

“Deep breath now, Din,” Koona told him gently while setting something in Din’s lap. Din blinked through his breath, looking at his lap to discover a brightly colored doll, of all things. He was vaguely aware of a pinch to his arm, but by the time he looked up at the doctor, Koona had turned away, something hidden in his hand. Din blinked again, looking at Serim who shook his head and shrugged at Din. Din puffed out his cheeks, realizing what had happened, then wrinkled his nose, a little miffed despite how quickly it’d happened.

Koona put the needle with his sample into some kind of… computer… thingy. Din watched as the doctor typed something in, and then came back to his side, offering Din a sugar candy. Din accepted it cautiously.

“There, I know it’s scary to take a needle, but you did really good, Din.”

He flushed and looked away. Koona let him chew on the candy, going to check the results before humming.

“He’s had a few vaccines, but I’d like to give him a good comprehensive on the rest,” he addressed Serim, then turned back to Din. “Only one hypo, though, then we’re done with the shots for today, okay?”

Din made a displeased noise, but nodded. He didn’t like that at all. Koona hummed, turning back to the computer a minute, then returning to Din’s side. Din blinked as the Hypospray briefly tapped his neck and then was removed after a sharp hiss and what felt like nothing more than a brief blast of air. Koona dropped the empty canister into a waste bin, then turned back to the boy.

“Okay, then I need to check you for any birthmarks or physical defects, and there’s one last thing. It’s embarrassing, but it’s very important to make sure you know the right names for every part of your body, so we’ll do that too, okay?”

“.. okay?” Din answered, confused. That didn’t sound embarrassing.

* * *

It had been _very_ embarrassing. Din was blushing even as he pulled his clothes back on. He felt better hiding under Serim’s arm once his _buir_ had finished his talk with Koona, though. Dad had always called it his _boy parts_ when teaching him to bathe himself, and he’d never thought about it beyond that. But Koona seemed insistent that Din understood the _proper_ names for those parts of himself. He huffed even as Serim patted his head. Seirm chuckled.

“Yeah I know, I know. But there's a good reason for it, Din, though I didn’t know about that until he told me.”

“Why? S’Embarrassing,” Din muttered.

“Sometimes people will use the wrong words for parts of your body, and then if you get sick or hurt there, when you try to tell someone, that someone doesn’t understand what you’re saying because they don’t know the word you’re using,” Serim explained. Din huffed again, a bit indignant.

“But Mom n’Dad taught it to me,” Din protested. “They wouldn’t teach it to me wrong.”

“No, but see, if you’d told them something was wrong, they’d have understood because they taught those words to you, but I don’t know what words they used,” Serim said, and Din thought he might be kind of embarrassed too, but he was glad his _buir_ was there for all of it. He felt safer with him there, he’d not been happy when Koona had asked if he wanted Serim to leave. Though the doctor had smiled when Din said he wanted Serim to stay, so… maybe it was just a silly thing Doctors had to ask. “So this way you and I both will know exactly what you mean if you ever have to tell me something important.”

“Oh,” Din considered that, then nodded. That made sense.

“Now,” Serim said with a small smile. “Do you want to go play with the other children for a while?”

Din nodded eagerly at the suggestion, glancing towards the exit, where he could occasionally hear laughter.

“Go on, then.”

* * *

Din chased after Yabel, but she swung around a corner ahead of him, and upon turning the same corner, he couldn’t figure out where she’d gone. He stopped, looking side to side in confusion. He turned around, checked back around the corner, then back down the hall.

…

Maybe she’d run really fast?

He hurried further down the hall, pausing at an intersection and peering each way, reluctant to venture too far without knowing the right direction.

A squeal of laughter behind him made him spin. There was Yabel, standing at the corner he’d lost her around. He charged for her, yelling.

“Where’d you go!?”

“Not telling!” she shrieked, dodging away. Din heard more yelling and redirected after Ramik and Haali, doing his level best to catch up. Haali took the lead, passing her new older brother, squealing in delight.

He was going to catch _someone,_ dang it!

Haali let out a sudden yelp of surprise and leapt sideways before disappearing. Ramik skidded to a halt, causing Din to crash into him, the two falling into a small heap. When they looked up to see what had so startled Haali, all they saw was a couple Mandalorians they’d never seen before.

They were both in dark armor, gunmetal and blue, though the slimmer of the two’s armor was a little oddly shaped, as if to emphasize that she was a woman. Her helmet, tucked under her arm, had a visor and color that made Din think of a predatory bird, and he blinked up at her, torn between quailing and his ever-growing experiences that Mandalorians would never be mean to him. Ramik struggled free from under Din, looking up at the two Mandalorians.

Din tried for casual, giving a shy grin even as he wondered how this lady’s hair could be so _red._ “Hi. Did you see where our friend went?”

Piercing yellow-green eyes hardly emoted as she slowly tilted her head to one side and then the other, Din hunched up his shoulders a bit, uncomfortable with the silent regard. Ramik scootched back on his butt, making a little noise of discomfort as he pushed to his feet.

“You’re both new to Mandalore,” said the warrior finally, her voice clipped and cool, though Din didn’t think she was displeased. He nodded politely, standing up and shuffling shyly.

“Yeah! Ser-uh.. _Buir_ found me and brought me here and Ramik’s Haali’s new brother and we should go catch her-”

“I see,” she said with a small nod. “And now you will become Mandalorians.”

“Yeah!” Din lit up at that, grinning up at the sorta-scary lady while straightening his red clothes. “ _Buir_ ’s already started training me.”

“Good,” She said, turning her head slightly and gesturing with her chin. “Your little friend went that way.”

“Thank you!” Din said with a sunny smile. “C’mon, Ramik!”

They carefully darted around the two Mandalorians, but as Din was about pass her, the scary lady put a hand on his shoulder.

“When you’re presented to the Mand’alor, be dressed as a Mandalorian, not as what you used to be.”

He paused, then looked up at her while blinking without comprehension. Her lip curled slightly as she tugged once on the shoulder of his robes, so much like Mom and Dad had worn, and then he understood and flushed, looking down.

“Okay,” he said. “ _Buir_ said I was gonna get more clothes soon…”

“Good,” she said, releasing him. “Go on, then.”

Din nodded, hunching his shoulders a little, but hearing Ramik yelling that he’d spotted Yabel, he forgot his discomfort and charged to catch up to the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behot: herb used in beverages, mildly antiseptic and stimulating  
> Vor’e: thanks
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and comments are highly appreciated!


	10. Presentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din meets the Mand'alor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to ramp this shit up to 11.
> 
> _Buir_ \- Parent  
>  _Cin Vhetin_ \- fresh start, clean slate (lit. "white field", "virgin snow" - term indicating the erasing of a person’s past when they become Mandalorian, and that they will only be judged by what they do from that point onwards; like the "first turn of the screw cancels all debts" for sailors)  
>  _Ad'ika_ \- Little one, Son/daughter  
>  _Ba'buir_ \- Grandparent  
>  _Ori'vod_ \- Big brother/Big Sister/Elder sibling  
>  _Aliit ori'shya tal'din_ \- family is more than blood  
>  _Alo’miite_ \- Grand speech (speech delivered by Mand'alor to tell his people of the future plans or upcoming events and strategies)  
>  _Mando'ade_ \- Mandalorians

Din carefully folded up his red tunic and put it neatly into his drawer under his newer shirts. Satisfied, he picked up the last of his newly-provided tops; a perfectly fitted blue shirt with simple Mandalorian iconography stitched into the collar, the grey tusks of a Mythosaur patterned around the buttons that closed it over his throat. It was very fancy.

He set it aside and went to find the pants that went with the shirt. Finding the comfortable black leggings, he pulled them on, and then went back to the shirt. This he carefully donned, smoothing it down over his chest self-consciously, trying to look like the perfect young _Mando'ad_. He was going to meet the _Mand'alor_ today.

He left his room, pausing to peek through his Finder- his _buir's_ cracked door to see Serim doing up the straps on his armor. Serim glanced up and smiled at him, and Din grinned back before heading into the washroom. He peered at his reflection, checking that his face hadn’t magically become dirty since his bath. He stared at the mirror for a long moment, not recognizing the boy looking back at him.

It took a moment to realize what was throwing his self-perception off: the haircut. Ra-Ba had buzzed Din’s hair down into what he’d affectionately called an “induction cut.” There was only stubble where Din had once had curly locks. The top of his head was a bit darker, enough hair left there that it showed its texture and color well.

He squinted at it thoughtfully, turning his head side to side, then nodded to himself seriously. It was shorter than his _Buir’s_ hair, but Ragiz had promised Din’s would grow out to match soon. Ra-ba had mentioned doing this cut for his fellow soldiers back when he’d been in the barracks. Din had asked to have his hair cut short like this, but he wasn't used to it yet.

“Are you sure?” Ragiz had asked with a fond smile when Din had brought it up. Din had nodded and simply told him he wanted to look like his _buir_. That had been met with fond approval, and he left it at that. Truthfully, he also wanted to be a proper Mandalorian, and if most Mandalorians had short hair, then so should he.

More than that, his curly hair reminded him of his mom singing as she brushed it, and it hurt to think about whenever he had to brush it himself. She had once told him his hair was just like his dad’s. He wanted to remember his mom and dad, but he didn’t want to hurt all the time, to have every little thing remind him of them. Saying Remembrance in the morning was enough. He’d let himself remember for a little while, curled up under the blankets, and then get up to start his day, letting the sadness wash away with his morning sonics.

Remembering was good, but Din hadn't heard Ra-ba talk about his life before becoming a Foundling, and there was another concept he'd learned just yesterday from Kasov.

 _Cin Vhetin._ Fresh Snow. Clean slate. Who one was before becoming Mandalorian was irrelevant, only the Mandalorian they would become. That was what Kasov had said, and Din had quietly decided for himself that that meant he needed to focus on really becoming Din Ghyrs, not just Din Djarin of clan Ghyrs. He hadn't announced it to the family, not feeling the need, but the last few days he'd kept focus on the goal, and he was determined to keep at it.

He slept better at night when exhausted. The nightmares couldn't bother him when he was so tired his brain didn't want to make up stories.

He absently adjusted his sleeve, and glanced over his shoulder when there was a polite tap on the washroom door. Serim was standing there, fully armored, helmet in hand.

"Are you ready, _ad'ika_?"

Din turned to his _buir_ with a nervous smile and nodded.

* * *

That droid again. Din stared at the hovercart from behind Te-ba's leg. Serim had his arms folded behind his back, watching the scene. Closer to the cart, doctor Koona was gently guiding Ramik up the droid, speaking soothingly.

"It's alright, son, it’s still just Geetoo," Koona was saying to his newest son. Din hardly glanced at the other Kykals, standing around and watching - he was too focused on that astromech.

Finally, Ramik was standing a couple paces away from the droid, which chirped at him once. Din hunched his shoulders at the noise, feeling better when Ra-ba patted his head from behind. After a moment, Ramik was released to scramble to the back of the hovercart, his siblings cheering and piling on around him. Din felt gauntlets move to his shoulders and braced against them, guessing what was about to happen.

"Let’s go say hello to Geetoo and then you can ride at the back with your friends," said Ra-ba gently. Din shook his head at that, bracing against the gentle push. "Din, you can't spend your life afraid of astromechs. It’s okay, it won't hurt you."

“I’m not afraid,” Din said petulantly, still refusing to move forward.

Ragiz gave Din a small push, making the boy squeak and try to squirm away.

“There’s nothing wrong with being scared, but you have to face it down. I won’t make you touch the droid, you just have to come a bit closer, okay? Then you can sit in the back with the other children. It looks like they have some treats to share with you.”

Din glanced towards the other children; none were in helmets today, he saw, then his gaze turned back to the droid.

“Din,” said Ragiz firmly, but not unkindly.

“Come on, Din, s’just Geetoo!” chirped Haali. “He’s kinda yelly but he’s not mean!”

There was a quiet chatter-chirp from the droid and Din flinched away, turning and burying his face against the coarse fabric that covered his _ba’buir’s_ stomach, grasping tightly at the old man’s armor for comfort.

“Din,” said Tero in the same tone as her husband. “Turn around and look at the droid. If we let you avoid them forever, you’ll always fear them.”

Din glanced to Serim for help, but his _buir_ remained silent, tilting his head slightly. How Din wished he could see his family’s faces right now. But all he saw were their T-visors, and he couldn’t read those. He glanced towards the droid at the front of the cart, then at the ground, tears welling up in his eyes.

He knew he was holding everyone up! It was an important day! They were gonna meet the Mand’alor! He was making them late! But he didn’t want to be anywhere near that droid and why couldn’t they just let him hang out at the back again like before!?

“Din, you don’t have to go up to the droid, just look at it and take two steps closer,” Serim said kindly. “Then you’re done.”

He looked up at his _buir_ , hunching his shoulders. Serim’s voice had been calm, not frustrated, but he wondered if he was embarrassing the man. Two steps…

He shuffled a little, not looking at the droid, but reluctantly stepping closer. Hands clasped under his jaw and he was too startled to resist when he was forced to raise his gaze to the front of the hovercart. The Droid’s optics were looking at him and he flinched, but all the droid did was spin its domed head around in circles and make an odd purring noise.

“One more step,” Ra-ba told him, still holding Din’s chin. Din could feel himself trembling against the Mandalorian’s armor, but did as he was told. Immediately, he was released, and he caught himself from stumbling. “Good job. I’m proud of you.”

Din looked at the ground, not his _ba’buir_. He didn’t feel proud of himself. Ragiz knelt beside him and touched Din’s shoulder for attention.

“Getting over fear isn’t going to happen all at once. Next time you’ll be able to get a little closer, and nothing bad will happen then too, alright?”

Din glanced at him, then back at the ground. Ragiz gently rubbed a hand over Din’s freshly-shaved head.

“You can go sit with the other kids now, Din. You did a good job.”

He felt a little better, especially seeing Serim nod agreeably out of the corner of his eye. But he still clambered morosely onto the hovercart, not looking around even when he could feel all the grownups mounting up. There was a brief comment from Jaha to which Serim replied ‘thank you’ in Mando’a, but Din didn’t know the rest of the words.

“I think you were brave,” Korm’rk informed both Din and Ramik with the aura of a child who thought himself wiser than the rest because he was eldest. Din glanced up at him briefly, noting that his hair had been carefully plaited into tight rows that rested over his skull. “ _Koo-Buir_ calls it ‘exposure therapy.’”

“I don’t like it,” Ramik said, and Din nodded mutely, tugging at his sleeve. Korm’rk shrugged.

“Well, it’s supposed to make it easier to deal with scary things, so I guess it’s like getting your shots, right?”

“I guess,” Ramik muttered.

Din folded his arms, trying to ignore the other kids, staring at the ground as the cart began to move. The gravel of the supposedly abandoned quarry soon faded to waving grasses, and despite himself, he found himself watching the greenery as they passed over it.

“Here, Din,” said a voice. He glanced up, seeing Bes’ma offering him something brightly wrapped. "We got some candy from our _buir'e_."

He sighed at being pulled from his sulk, but he also accepted the candy.

* * *

The planet was eclipsing the sun as they rode towards the place where they would meet the Mand'alor. Din watched in awe as the _sar…. Sarad-_ ‘dancing flowers’ curled themselves tightly as if bundling themselves off to bed as darkness began to fall. When he squinted up at the sky, he saw Mandalore rimmed in blazing white, and then he looked away because it hurt his eyes.

* * *

Sun and Mandalore concealing it were very low on the horizon as the hovercart pulled into a low valley. The sky was an incredible tapestry of purples and golds, the sun itself a rainbow ring around the planet. Din thought it was the most spectacular thing he'd ever seen. He found it funny that it was almost sunset here on the surface, but late morning according to the chrono his buir had checked. Moon days were the weirdest!

He saw a good many Mandalorians, several dozen, gathered in the valley and sat up on his knees to get a better look. He saw a huge boulder in one of the valley walls, a natural platform big enough that maybe eight or nine people were standing on it. Looking over the crowd below, he couldn’t pick out their colors in the low light. He glanced at his Finder as the hovercart stopped, too curious to hold his tongue. “Do they all have foundlings?”

“No, though some might. There were four of you that we brought back from your world,” Serim told him. “And another strike force came back from Afbar Zeta three days ago, they brought back some Foundlings too. But those warriors down there are forces about to be sent out to war. They are here to get a sendoff from the Mand’alor, just as you’re here to be welcomed.”

“Oh.”

They walked towards a clump of people, standing on the edge of the little valley, and Din noticed other kids. He went to investigate.

A squeal startled him, and then he was bowled over by another child’s delight.

“Din!” Keri Vizsla exclaimed, wrapped around him. “You’re back!”

“H-hi, Keri,” he squeaked. There were giggles from the Kykal kids behind him, Ramik walking up to say hello to Keri too. Then Ramik went to a Mandalorian couple in armor, only one with her helmet off. The other was holding a baby, and kneeled to greet Ramik, letting him see the infant.

Din watched, wondering about that, but remembered Ramik mentioning on the ship that there'd been a baby. Ramik petted the baby's hair, earning a fond laugh from the Mandalorian woman holding it.

There were other families standing around, but Din didn't get to look at them, Keri dragging him over to her new family and eagerly pointing them out to him.

“That’s my new mom Makas, and Suiva’s my dad, and Abara’s my Si- uh... _Ori’vod_ , and that’s Fen, he’s my oldest brother, and then there’s-”

“I know Abara-” Din tried to interrupt, waving a little in the yellow-and-grey clad warrior’s direction, but he wasn’t given time to greet them, forcibly steered around by the smaller child to meet her many siblings. There were seven of them without Paz! Only Keri and the next youngest were without helmet and armor. None of the adults were any help, chuckling indulgently.

"-and Paz is over there somewhere with the Mand'alor, but I don't know which one is him," Keri finished, pointing at the small gathering of people on the big boulder sticking out of the cliff wall. Din looked over, seeing Mandalorians, wondering which of them was the nice teenager he'd met, and which was the Mand'alor. Serim came over and Din smiled up at the warrior as Keri was gently disentangled from him by her new parents.

"Come stand with us over here," Serim said, bringing Din to where Tero and Ragiz were standing on the edge of the valley wall, looking in over the array of warriors that were speaking to one another in various voices, the sound a loud rumble funneling up to Din's young ears. "The Mand'alor is coming this way now."

Din looked up to see the flare of Jetpacks from the big rock, and watched in awe as it seemed that the Mandalorians simply hopped across great distance from the steep embankment to join them. Most landed lightly, a few bending deeply at the knees to cushion their impacts, only one stumbled.

Din was close enough to hear not-entirely-kind snickers out of some of the Mand'alor's personal guard at their fellow's performance, but he forgot all about that when Keri squealed and ran up to that one, impacting off his leg. Din didn't need that to recognize Paz's markings up close, but it certainly helped. The chuckles turned softer as Paz awkwardly patted her head.

"Hi big broth- I mean _Ori'vod_!" she shouted, full of excitement. Paz laughed awkwardly, trying to disentangle her from his leg as Makas and Suiva came to get their littlest child. There was a throat-clearing sound and Suiva tilted his head, murmuring an apology in Mando'a.

"Ah, no trouble," chuckled a male voice. Deep and imposing, making the hair on the back of Din's neck stand up and the boy lean back against his _buir_ for comfort. "It's pleasing to see that the future of our people is so bold. How about we start right here?"

Din could see markings on dark armor, like a spiked crown painted on the helmet's brow. And when that frightening helm was removed, the face beneath was sharp and cold. This was the Mand'alor, he realized. He was tall and pale in the low light, contrasting sharply with his dark armor. His pale hair was short, and his eyes were hooded in the shadow of Mandalore. His gaze swept over Keri, and then Din, then finally to where Ramik was leaned up against Jaha’s leg. Then he turned back to Keri, on whose shoulders rested Suiva’s hands.

“So, my newest cousin, are you?” the Mand’alor asked, Din noted his voice was higher and reedier outside his helmet and wondered why. Keri, suddenly bashful, stared at his knee plates and nodded. A gauntleted hand cupped her chin and lightly lifted it, causing her to make eye contact. Din eyed the Mand’alor curiously, leaning back against Serim’s armor for comfort, happy that Ragiz and Tero were just behind his buir.

“Yea-” Keri started, but the Mand’alor interrupted.

“Good! Very good,” He looked up at Suiva. “And what is the child’s name?”

“She is Keri Vizsla,” said Suiva, voice fond. The Mand’alor nodded, taking his hand away from Keri’s chin. Keri waved at Paz as he passed by, but made no attempt to escape her parent’s hold again.

“Marvelous,” said the Mand’alor, and then he took a step and looked down at Din. Din swallowed and straightened his back under those eyes... somehow reflective… but not the same way Ramik’s family’s eyes reflected. More like they were blocking him from seeing the feelings inside those eyes than reflecting light. The Mandalor’s gaze flicked over him, and even though Din didn’t break away, a hand tucked up under his chin, lifting it.

Serim’s fingers on his shoulders tightened minutely, and Din almost shifted to look at his _buir_ , but then the Mand’alor spoke. “And what is this young Mandalorian’s name?”

“Din Ghyrs,” Din answered after a pause made it evident that Serim wasn’t going to speak. One hand squeezed on his shoulder again, but this time it seemed more purposeful. Reassurement that he’d done right. It made him bold. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

The Mand’alor chuckled and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He released Din and moved on to Ramik. Ramik squared his shoulders as he was approached, and leaned back ever-so-slightly when the Mand’alor reached for his chin. There was a small noise, maybe a chuckle, from the Mand’alor, and he lifted Ramik’s chin anyway. “Now, now, a Mandalorian doesn’t flinch.”

Ramik tensed slightly, and Din felt Serim’s fingers flex on his shoulders again, and a noise that might’ve just been static from his _buir’s_ vocoder. He glanced up, then watched on as Ramik was introduced as part of the Kykal clan. Then he moved on to the baby at the end of the line, who was apparently being given a Mandalorian name: Kalira Rau. The baby was briefly inspected, and then the Mand’alor moved on to the children that Din hadn’t met. He stepped away from Serim to look, though one of his _buir_ ’s hands continued to rest on his shoulder. He noticed Paz hanging back, hearing the teenager speaking in quiet, excited tones to his family, the Vizsla adults speaking back in voices that might’ve been censure, the children whispering eagerly.

The Mand’alor lifted the chin of the next child, who had long braided hair, so Din assumed it was a girl, but the one after her was a Zabrak (He’d learned about that species just yesterday from Ra- _ba!_ ) and the Mand’alor did not lay hands on that child, simply looking them over and nodding as he was told their name.

Finally he was done and he walked back along the line, glancing over the children one last time, pausing briefly and nodding in satisfaction. This time, the smile did briefly reach his eyes. “Fine young Mandalorians in training. No doubt you will all contribute well to our _bui’tsad._ ”

“Yes sir!” ssaid Din eagerly, though he didn’t know what that meant. This time, he did look up when Serim’s fingers tightened in his shirt. Serim looked down at him and Din smiled sunnily up at his _buir_ , wondering if Serim thought he needed comforting. There was a long sigh from his _buir_ , and then Serim relaxed behind him.

The Mand’alor paused beside Paz, who immediately fell silent and straightened. The Mand’alor nodded and then turned back to the valley, looking down upon the few dozen warriors below, voices now a low murmur.

The low light of the Sun eclipsed by Mandalore brighted slightly, and Din glanced up while shielding his face to see that a wider band of the star was now visible behind the planet, the two slowly moving away from one another. It seemed like a signal, for the Mand’alor’s jetpack came to life, and he easily traversed open air back to that great boulder in the cliff wall. His bodyguards leapt to follow, their jetpacks roaring in the quiet planet-caused evening.

And then as their feet touched down, the Mandalore pulled a strange little thing off his belt and lifted it above his bare head, helmet still under his arm. Suddenly a strange… Glow seemed to erupt from the item…

A sword. A sword made of shadow, rimmed with light. Din gaped in awe of the fantastical sight, turning to look at Keri and Ramik to see if they saw it too, and they looked back at him with similar awe. Then, from the valley below, a woman’s voice shouted, full of confidence and power.

“OYA MANDA!”

Din startled as many voices chanted in reply.

_"MEE VAYERBOORISHBAH HAR MANDALORE! KUN MANDALORE!"_

He didn’t understand what they were saying, but it echoed through the once-quiet valley, the stomping of armored boots in rhythm that matched the resounding roar of voices. Then the woman’s voice shouted again, and his gaze found her.

_“MAND’ALOR TO-GAAYLIR!”_

It was the scary lady he’d met after getting his shots. She was standing under the big rock, almost completely hidden in its shadow, and yet her voice was easily heard, even in the roar, and now that he recognized her, she was impossible to look away from. Her helmet was on, but he recalled too well the intensity of her gaze. And oh, how the crowd chanted in response to her.

_“Mee ahkaaneer parKAYSH!”_

Din straightened as he heard the chant of _“OYA!”_ taken up. Even Serim projected the word.

 _“Oya!”_ howled Keri, clearly caught up in the moment. Several adult voices echoed hers, fierce and gleeful all at once, and this time Din couldn’t resist joining, letting out his best “ _Oya!_ ” with the rest of them.

The Mand’alor lowered the glowing shadow-sword, and let it hang at his side, smiling faintly as the light of the sun finally managed to burst past the planet of Mandalore, bathing the valley in the sudden light of evening. Din let out a gasp as the sky turned only the faintest blue, shot through with rich and royal purples and pinks, the ground a green that reflected the sky, and then seeming to fade to a fabulous red-orange as the dancing flowers opened to greet the warming rays.

“Wow! Look!” one of the other children exclaimed before being gently shushed. Din shifted, looking up at Serim and pointing to the half-hidden lady whose helmet had the birds-eye visor.

“I met her!”

“Ah?” Serim followed Din’s point, and then there was a noise that might’ve been a sniff. “Ah… _Lady_ Kryze.”

“Ah, c’mon now, Ghyrs, she’s a fantastic example of _Aliit ori'shya tal'din_ , isn’t she?” commented Fen Vizsla with a little chuckle. “Though she could’ve chosen a better smith to forge her _beskar’gam_.”

“Hm, indeed.”

There was an annoyed throat-clearing from Jaha, but before Din could ask what they were referencing, the Mand'alor lightly swung his sword through the air, the sound of it drawing every eye.

" _Alo'miite_!" called the scary lady- Lady Kryze, as Serim had called her. There was a smattering of cheers from around them, including a whoop from some of the Vizslas, though Din happened to glance over in time to see Makas Vizsla, Paz’s mother, cross her arms with an unhappy posture. He wondered why, but was caught up in the moment as the Mand'alor began to speak.

"It’s good to see our people strengthening again, to see the _Mando'ade_ becoming great once more,” He said, and his voice echoed powerfully through the little valley, the glowing sword in his hand demanding attention. “Once, Mandalore was the most fearsome planet in the Galaxy, we were a people respected by all. The Universe knew us for what we are; the greatest warriors in the Galaxy.”

He paused, sweeping his gaze over the crowd of warriors. “The tragedy of it all, is that we, knowing this, did not feel the need to continually prove it to outsiders, and they forgot. Now the whole Galaxy is embroiled in conflict that has nothing to do with us, so claim those on the homeworld.”

He lifted the hand not holding his fantastical weapon and pointed up to the shadow of Mandalore that hangs in the sky. In the evening light, Din could make out the beautiful gold of the planet’s dune seas, and pick out little silver jewels of dome cities. A beautiful sight. Then the Mand’alor’s voice reclaimed his attention.

“But it is the Way of our people to rescue those in need, and shuttle them to safety,” The Mandalore’s free hand swept now over the families gathered on the edge of the valley, and Din snuggled against Serim’s leg as he felt gazes turn to them. “To remain neutral in conflict where the innocent are harmed is to choose the side of cowardice. Looking away and closing eyes against the violence and bloodshed, claiming the moral high ground because one refuses to fight righteously is nothing but weakness.”

Din felt Serim straighten behind him, and looked up, catching his _buir_ nodding as if to himself. He returned attention to the Mand’alor, a bit bored of standing around, but the intensity of everyone around kept him from fidgeting. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and heard Keri whispering some question. She was gently shushed, an adult voice promising to explain it to her once the speech was over.

“Yet, there is no side in this war that is good,” the Mand’alor paused, and his face deepened into a furious scowl. “Our traditional enemies have flown their true colours again, taking on the role of generals over slave soldiers, and on the other side, there are genocidal warlords. No. To turn our back and claim that this is a ideological war and that true victory is to ignore it all would be nothing but weakness.”

“Mandalore must be neutral in this, for both sides are reprehensible, they are ripping apart this galaxy and harming those with no choice. But that does not mean we sit it out; it is our duty to restore order, and save those we can.”

The Mand’alor paused, letting it sink in. Din looked up when he heard Te-ba speak.

“Pre Vizsla certainly is a powerful speaker. It’s easy to see how he’s managed to unite the clans.”

“Is that the Mand’alor’s name?” Din asked, looking at her. He got a nod. He fidgeted a little and Serim released his shoulders. Din paused, then moved a little closer to the valley edge, sitting down to watch. He looked up when Keri and two of her siblings came to sit with him. Pre Vizsla, the Mand’alor. Their great leader. Though Din had heard him call Keri his new cousin, now he actually recognized the meaning there in.

“Wow Keri, that’s your family,” he said, loosing track of the speech for the moment. Keri nodded, eyes shining.

“He’s so cool!” she whispered back. There was a shushing sound from one of the other kids, and Din found his gaze drawn back to the man on whom all adults were focused.

“For many centuries now, it has been considered the sacred duty of any Mandalorian to guard and defend the innocent. To take them in and bring them back to their people where they can be happy and safe, and failing the ability to do that, adopt them ourselves,” spoke the Mand’alor, and Din smiled at that, turning to glance over his shoulder to where Serim was standing with his parents, all so strong looking in their armor.

“In these times of war, it can be hard to reconnect lost children with their families,” said the Mand’alor, lowering his chin as if saddened. “Perhaps near impossible, and then they find themselves staring down the barrels of guns again, not protected.”

Din swallowed at that, wrapping his arms around himself at the thought.

The Mand’alor paused a long moment, as if lost in thought, and when he spoke again, his voice was almost soft, saddened. “In these dangerous times, is it not safer to keep Foundlings near, where we who are warriors can protect them?”

Din looked up as someone sat down at his right, and he saw that it was Ramik and his siblings. Korm’rk folded his legs up under his body and smiled, though he was clearly squinting against the sunset. Din grinned at him, feeling important that the Mand’alor was talking about them.

“You who are now heading out to war, you too will find families torn apart, children separated, lost, alone...” the Mand’alor spoke, sweeping his gaze over the crowd, and then turning his eyes to the Foundings once more. Din thought he saw him smile, seeing the children sitting together. “Helpless…”

“Their birth families failed them once, why should we return them to be failed again? Truly, we would be failing them to return them to such unstable circumstance,” he said. Din shifted uncomfortably at that but… mom and dad weren’t here any more. There was only Serim. Serim who hand crossed his right arm to grip at his left bicep, fingers drumming an anxious pattern on the heavy weave of his undersuit. “Shuttle them safely to Mandalore, to Concordia where they can live free, and learn to protect themselves, let them grow strong and wise in our Way, and then release them back to the galaxy when they are ready to face it down.”

That seemed fair, Din thought. He did feel safe and happy here, even though he missed mom and dad terribly. It was better being here and safe and with family than it would have been back home, with no more mom and dad… but he wished they were still alive and he could be with them anyway.

His gaze drifted back to the Mand’alor, Pre Vizsla. This was the person who represented all the people that had rescued Din and brought him in. He was impressive and terrifying, and Din couldn’t help but find him incredible. But… He glanced back at Serim and caught that T-visor tilted in his direction. He smiled at the Mandalorian, and Serim’s head cocked over, making Din think the smile was probably returned.

He was probably biased, (Not that an eight year old knew much about biases) but he liked his buir best, even over the Mand’alor.

“The universe is a deadly place, there is no lasting peace, the powers that be are disconnected from the reality of it all,” said the Mand’alor, his voice sonorous as it echoed in the last rays of the setting sun. “To secure the future of the Innocent and Helpless, we who are sworn to protect them must strengthen ourselves, grow in number until again we are numerous enough to fill the Galaxy with our songs. You warriors who go now, make Mandalore proud.”

The fearsome glowing sabre was twitched as if for emphasis, and then It went out, leaving only the Mand’alor and his bodyguards standing in the last rays of the evening, Concordia rolling away from the light.

Din startled at the sudden roar of approving voices from the valley below, and he and most of the other kids couldn't help cheering in response. Yet… when he glanced over his shoulder, wondering why only a few voices behind him called out, he saw Makas Vizsla still standing with her arms folded angrily across her chest. It was so out of odds with the other adults, who seemed relaxed.

Then he noticed another; Koona Kykal, his silver-white eyes glowing in the low light, anxiously biting his finger, and gaze alternating between the Mand’alor and the group of children. Din wondered why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, the sweet and cute wasn't gonna last forever. Time for Baby's First Cult!
> 
> You KNOW Pre Vizsla timed his speech to that dramatic eclipse on purpose.
> 
> _Buir_ \- Parent  
>  _Cin Vhetin_ \- fresh start, clean slate (lit. "white field", "virgin snow" - term indicating the erasing of a person’s past when they become Mandalorian, and that they will only be judged by what they do from that point onwards; like the "first turn of the screw cancels all debts" for sailors)  
>  _Ad'ika_ \- Little one, Son/daughter  
>  _Ba'buir_ \- Grandparent  
>  _Ori'vod_ \- Big brother/Big Sister/Elder sibling  
>  _Buit'sad_ -Bloodline. Not a common term for mandalorians, they're more concerned with the chosen family lines (Author note, only put this in AFTER chapter notes)  
>  _Aliit ori'shya tal'din_ \- family is more than blood  
>  _Alo’miite_ \- Grand speech (speech delivered by Mand'alor to tell his people of the future plans or upcoming events and strategies)  
>  _Mando'ade_ \- Mandalorians
> 
> Also, the mando’a shouting at one point isn’t meant to be translated, it’s typed out phonetically how a kid who doesn’t understand Mando’a would hear it. If you somehow manage to translate it anyway… hoo boy.


End file.
